Manifest Destiny
by See That Guy
Summary: With the help of the Courier, Caesar's Legion decimated the NCR, and established full control of not only the Mojave, but the west, as well. They have desires on D.C; have desires to spread from sea to shining sea. There's a certain Lone Wanderer that may not support these goals.
1. My Name Is Cord

****Nota Bene: Relationships both physical and social between real, living human beings and any characters herein are entirely coincidental.**

**I strongly advise you to read "Beneath This Gruff Exterior" first, or you'll likely be very lost.**

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**Prologue**

**My Name Is Cord**

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**"Teamwork is essential. It gives them other people to shoot at."**

**-Unknown**

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The Capital Wasteland, by comparison to the settlements within it, is an enormous place. It is a remnant of the Pre-War world- the skeleton of Washington, D.C.

Even in this wasteland, life still thrives in remarkable ways. Even those that may appear to be dead (such as ghouls) are still very much alive, depending on how you define "life".

There have been several mass-extinction events throughout Earth's 4.5 billion year life, the greatest of which so far being "The Great Dying", an extinction event that resulted in 90% of life on Earth at the time perishing.

The Great War was not as lethal as the Great Dying, but it did succeed in wiping out almost all traces of law, order, stability, and security. The only land on this scorched Earth to have rebuilt in the years since the war is "Russia", though even with its new start, America sees Russian immigrants. Russia is a much larger place than the Capital Wasteland.

The Capital Wasteland is only large until you try to imagine it on a scale of the entire USA. Then, it is tiny. Then, it is America itself that becomes the wasteland in question.

I live with my best friends Milly and Dogmeat in the Capital Wasteland, located in the United Wastes of America.

Milly... though it's been a few months since the events at Project Purity, and she told me repeatedly that we were O.K, I can't help but feel ashamed of my decisions in the past. I betrayed her trust, and I did so out of greed. I betrayed the one person that deeply cared about my health for the thing that I lost; the humanity that I lost.

I was ungrateful. Eden was right; I was very, very lucky to survive my exposure. My mutation (I'm a deathclaw, by the way) was a miracle. No, not in the sense that I was thrilled with my new form when I awoke (I hated it), but in the sense that I managed to refrain from becoming a ghoul. Or dead.

I viewed this form as rampant mutation; a joke played on me by mother nature made bitter from nuclear war. It took my only real deathclaw friend, Kastine, to show me that I am beaten. I will never again see the world through human eyes, though no matter what, Milly tries endlessly to make me feel like I can.

She always does her best to treat me as a human. That is one of the reasons I love her like Dogmeat. Others initially see a beast that typically preys on humans. Milly is more open-minded than that. Where others treat me as an animal, and then as a human once they get to know me better, Milly chose to treat me as a human the moment I opened my mouth at the doorway of that old barn.

She is reckless, but a beautiful human. I find it odd that she still has not found a significant other, but that's usually because she's too busy running around, or I scare people off. I think. We are like family, sure, but that doesn't mean no secrets are kept between us.

For all I know, Milly is leading a double-life and has a family already. That would be a sobering realization for me.

For the defeat of the Enclave, Milly was now a covert operative for the Brotherhood of Steel (a spy). That title is a great honor, but difficult in her case. The Lone Wanderer is known too well throughout the Capital Wasteland to be able to put on cover IDs, so we were typically sent on missions in other chapters.

We were never sent west. We always stuck to the east coast. Milly, Dogmeat and I have been sent to chapters in Florida, New York, and New Carolina- the wasteland equivalent of "North Carolina" and "South Carolina". These missions typically required me, a large deathclaw, to fit inside a small vertibird to "keep a low profile", which only contributed to my growing hatred of all flying machines.

I know it's for the greater good and all, but if I have to learn yoga techniques and limber up before getting into a vertibird, it's time to invest in a larger model. Get a giant stealth boy to keep your low profile for all I care. If I didn't have scoliosis before, I do now.

Milly always knows how I feel, because she always keeps a hand on me while we fly, and she does what she can to keep me loose (Dogmeat taunts me endlessly).

Even I was considered a covert operative (a title I never agreed to receiving, but that's the Brotherhood for you) for my affiliations with Miss 101 herself.

The pay is pretty bad (if I were still human, I'd accept domestic beer as payment), but as a covert operative, we have quite a few bonuses... like free repairs to any weapons or armor Milly needs repaired in the Citadel, free room and board in any Brotherhood chapter, support when needed if she radios it in, and we even get to use walkie talkies.

Oh, and unlimited use of training facilities in the Citadel. That privalege only served to make Milly an even better shot.

A covert operative is not like a pre-war movie. You don't sneak around very often. Rather, you spent most of your time in plain sight (I'm usually seperated from Milly during missions in case the "talking deathclaw of D.C" is known in the area in question). Additionally, most of the time, you aren't fighting. A wise man once said that being a spy is a lot like waiting in a waiting room, and every so often, somebody tries to kill you. It isn't all "sneak around and shoot" like it's made out to be.

It's just as well, because Milly is better at direct approaches. She isn't much for sneaking.

We only received a single mission in each of the aformentioned states before being placed on "Stand-by". Stand-by is basically "paid vacation", and it's indefinite. While on stand-by, you can do pretty much anything you want (except leave D.C, in our cases).

For a while, Milly, Dogmeat, and I simply wandered the wastes, talking a lot and seeing places we never visited before. I even managed to visit Old Olney with my two companions, and while the deathclaws there weren't hostile to us, they weren't hospitable, either.

They tolerated us for about four hours and then sent enough glares in our camp's direction to get us to leave. Just because I'm a deathclaw doesn't mean I'm any good at fighting other deathclaws. I know because I tried to once and I nearly died. I had a slave collar around my neck (it's a long story), so I didn't really have much choice in the matter, though!

After we wandered around enough, we started looking for things to do; anything that can keep us busy would do. I would suggest that we go to the Deathclaw Sanctuary, but Milly always avoided that place because she feared "turning into a Brahmin" or something similar to my fate. She was being facetious, but even so she never goes inside the Sanctuary when we visit it for my own needs.

She isn't afraid of the deathclaws inside it, because I'm around and deathclaws only rarely mess with their own kind (that slaver thing was an isolated incident!). She just doesn't want to be exposed to radiation if she doesn't have to be, and Deathclaw Sanctuary doesn't have a shortage of radiation.

That was something we did after another week went by without need of us. We went to Deathclaw Sanctuary, the very place that my mutation took hold, and also the place I met Kastine. It was she that convinced me to help Milly in the past, mind you.

So too was she the one that cursed me out and forcibly got me to leave the sanctuary. By that, I mean she kicked open the door and practically threw me out. She was still irritated with my poor decisions in the past.

That's why we're on our way to a place called "Big Town". We have nothing else to do right now other than live, and life lived dully is hardly lived at all.

Little did any of us know at the time, that life would get much more exciting within the next few years.

End of Prologue

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**1,462 words. Not bad for a prologue, considering my history with... prologues.**

**All this was meant to do was recap, and give a few brief explanations as to what is happening right now with Cord, Milly, and Dogmeat. My original outline of this story did not have a prologue, but I quickly realized that I would need one to establish what is going on so far.**

**Next chapter covers what Milly, Cord, and Dogmeat are doing in Big Town.**


	2. People Are Very Strange I

**Chapter 1**

**People Are Very Strange I**

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**"Whoever said the pen is mightier than the sword obviously never encountered automatic weapons."**

**-General Macarthur**

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"Cord, go get those guys on the left! Dogmeat, help him!"

I nodded. "Got it, Mil!"

_"I'm on it!"_

Big Town was a prime target for Super Mutants in the area, and we showed up at a good time to kill a few of the big green idiots. I still absolutely hated them for how easy of a target I was as a human, and I wasn't above taunting them as my claws raked across their bodies.

I'm 20 years old. That doesn't mean I'm above things I did when I was 19 years old... then again, I wasn't a deathclaw when I was 19 years old.

It wasn't long before I took a few bullets from the green men I was sent to kill, but because the big deathclaw seems like more of a threat than the dog, they focused on me. The mistake they made was thinking I was tougher than Dogmeat.

That furball picks on me endlessly and truly never accepted my apology for betraying Milly, though he does welcome me as part of the family. He simply never said "apology accepted".

I digress. While one of my paws swiped at the Super Mutant's chest, the other stabbed into his neck and brought him down fairly easily. The other stopped attacking me as Dogmeat caught him by the neck (something that he did to me when I was betraying Milly, though he didn't squeeze hard enough to kill me). With my guy done, I thought I could return to Milly, and then a Super Mutant threw a grenade at me.

It hit me in the back and landed by my feet, but it didn't go off because the idiot that threw it forgot to pull the pin. I snorted and charged him as he tried to throw another grenade at me (more bumbling on his part that would lead to his demise). The citizens of Big Town were practically painting a picture of Natural Selection. Where we took a few precautions, the Super Mutants threw caution to the wind.

Milly was using a technique on the Super Mutants that she learned of in Little Lamplight. If you shoot a Super Mutant in the right spot in the chest, it drops immediately. Now, if you are using a submachine gun or a hand gun, it may take a few more rounds, but for Milly's Steyr AUG (her favorite assault rifle), all it took was one well-placed round.

The citizens of Big Town knew the trick, too, because they were almost all from Little Lamplight. Why they held so much fear for the Super Mutants when they were so good at putting them down is beyond me. Maybe it was the size and fear of what they did with their prisoners (the civilians didn't know), or maybe it was the fact that Super Mutants stink worse than Dogmeat trying to avoid a bath.

Milly was using the technique like all the others, and a few Super Mutants gradually started to understand what was going on, because they tried wearing something to block that weak spot. Most of the time, the armor wasn't very good, but sometimes it would require an additional bullet before it went down.

Super Mutants are created of the FEV- the Forced Evolutionary Virus. Without it, humans would eventually evolve into Super Mutants in the future. If that's the case, I am so glad to be a deathclaw.

The Super Mutant attack lasted for about 15 minutes, and I took my share of bullets while the civilians suffered no casualties (or kidnappings). Some were wounded in the fight, but Milly, Dogmeat and I did our best to keep the injury toll low.

I threw my weight into my final Super Mutant and knocked him down, and it was on the ground that I started slashing at him with my claws as hard as I could. Milly and Dogmeat say that I get more violent when I'm fighting Super Mutants, but I really, _really_ hate them. Granted, Deathclaws aren't the most loving creatures, but I think one of the reasons I hate Super Mutants so much is because they don't know that everybody thinks they're stupid.

Once I got off the now thoroughly dead (I kicked him once for good measure) Super Mutant, I returned to Milly. She smiled up at me and I knelt down to her to receive medical treatment for my wounds. I still find it difficult to dodge bullets, though. Just because I'm mutated doesn't mean bullets slow down when they are fired upon me.

"You take Super Mutants out like a pro, Cord," said Milly as she started dressing the bullet wounds I received. "It's almost an art."

_"I'm better at it, though."_

I glanced down at Dogmeat while Milly worked on my wounds some more. "Says who?"

_"You killed 4. I killed 6."_

I stared down at him, and then I looked out at the expanse of Super Mutant corpses (Milly killed 12, or she killed a few and the defending town helped), and sure enough, I counted 6 Super Mutants with teeth marks on their necks. I killed 4 Super Mutants and took a few bullets. Dogmeat killed 6- not a scratch on him.

I was thoroughly impressed, but I couldn't say that to him because then his head gets so big you can't fit it through a door. Instead, I snorted.

"I let you win."

Dogmeat stared me down, and I relented. The only time I can get a decent petty jab in at Dogmeat is if it's time for his bath. He flops around like a fish out of water, but he's... you know, _in_ water.

Milly gave me a stimpack and even a mild painkiller for the headache I was sure to receive, and then she smiled and wrapped her arms around my neck.

"You did very well here," she said, and then she did the same for Dogmeat (minus the medical attention because I attract more bullets than Dogmeat does). Then, she turned around and looked at the wounded being taken to a medical clinic.

"I'm going to go help with the injured. Come on, guys."

Dogmeat went to her side, but I stayed by the road.

"You guys go on. I'm going to look around and make sure we didn't miss any stragglers. I'll meet you by the clinic."

Milly smiled and nodded, and then she and Dogmeat headed for the clinic. She was raised by a doctor and learned much about medicine from her father. James was also one of the reasons she helped the Brotherhood knock over the Enclave (or the bad tin men).

I was reflecting on the final attack on the Enclave (the one that took place shortly before Betelgeuse went supernova), and like usual, I was cursing myself for my betrayal. The devil himself offered me something to sell out the only person that really cared about me in this form, and I accepted the deal. Milly was reasonably upset when I told her... and though she tells me that she accepts my apology and wants to let the past be the past, Dogmeat never said "Apology accepted", though he seems to have rectified his friendship with me.

It's just as well, because I missed having conversations with the furball. Still, when I do bring up the apology every once in a while, he ignores me. I view what I did as unforgivable, but Milly managed to forgive me after some time to be angry. She is, by far, the strongest person I have ever met. She's far stronger than me in the mental sense of the word, and in some ways, the physical sense. I still gladly carry her around when she's too tired to walk, or we need to get somewhere quickly, though. It's the _least_ I can do after the many times she has saved my life.

I was zoned out for a few minutes before I took note of the man in the suit and top hat standing beside me. I looked behind me at Big Town, and was relieved to know I hadn't gone too far. Then, I glanced down at the man again.

He looked like he fell backwards into a time machine and his back hit "2277". The man had a black suit, top hat, and a mustache. I wanted to call him "Old Timey", but... it was too easy.

My playfulness vanished relatively quickly when he spoke to me as if he knew me forever.

"Hello, Cord."

Nobody that I am not familiar with knows my name. I met Three Dog once, and though he knows my name, Milly made him promise to keep from saying it on the air if he ever speaks of me (it's a long story). I would certainly remember a man like this, so his knowledge of my name bothered me.

"Do I know you?" I dumbly asked. The man kept staring out at the wasteland ahead of us.

"Well, I hope so. I know you."

"Well, help me out here. What's your name? Where do I know you from?" I asked. Still, the man did not acknowledge me.

"I'm asked that fairly often" was all the response he offered.

"So... who are you?" I asked. He finally looked up at me.

"Why, I'm you, Cord. I'm you, as I am Milly, as I am Dogmeat, as I am James, as I am a Yao Guai, as I am the cursed wolf, as I am a judge, as I am and am not."

I blinked.

"I am everybody, and I am nobody, Cord. I meet everybody, and I meet nobody. I am and am not."

"Well, Mr. Riddles, what possessed you to stroll up to a wandering deathclaw and try to engage conversation? How did you know I was the talking one from a distance?" I asked. The man broke eye contact with me and stared out at the landscape again.

"Oh, I know quite a lot about you, Cord. I know your name, I know your age, I know your favorite color, I know the truth, and I know of your betrayal."

My neutrality, formerly my playfulness... now it faded to slight irritation.

"What do you know of these things?" I asked.

"Cord, one of the civilians in Big Town had a dog named Buck. He went missing in the confusion of the attack on Big Town itself. Why don't you try to hunt him down? Return him to his master... or literally hunt him down. Eat him, if you'd like. I'm sure the former option would make _your_ master happy, whereas the latter would make your stomach smile."

I was about to demand that the guy tell me his name, but he started walking away too soon. Around Milly, I tried to be patient with everybody (because she is, and acting as patient as her pisses the deathclaw part of my mind off to no end), but it took some doing to keep from pursuing the guy.

I decided to look for the dog like he said. It would make Milly happy, and it might take my mind off the boredom of stand-by for a minute or two.

Deathclaws typically have weak vision but strong noses. I'm unusual among them. I retained the eyesight I had as a human (though my eyes look like any other monster's), but my sense of smell got stronger. Oh, and I can talk. Milly did a few tests on my vision shortly after we returned to Megaton (and I didn't get killed by Lucas Simms), and she told me that as time passed, my eyes would probably deteriorate and my nose would get even stronger. I was not looking forward to another overhaul on my senses, but I can't exactly do anything about it.

I used my nose to find the dog. I snorted in the air a few times to catch his scent and I was off after him. It was fresh, so the man was right- he fled during the attack. He probably would've been killed if the people defending Big Town weren't being distracting. That dog didn't know how lucky he was.

He ran off over what used to be an overpass, and his scent was going towards a raider camp (of course). I expected him to be dead, but the raiders didn't kill him. Rather, they had him roped to a pole, and they were trying to train him. They wanted a guard dog that would respond with only violence. These raiders were training him by making him angry.

If a week or two passed, he'd become a guard dog that they wanted... but they didn't count on a deathclaw interrupting. Once they heard my footsteps, they slowly turned around to face me (there were 3 of them). I stopped before them and waved a paw at them.

"Hi."

All was silent for a few moments. One gripped the sledgehammer he was holding tightly, another put a hand on a pistol, and the third looked like he was moments away from soiling himself. I quickly pointed at the dog (and made them all jolt).

"I want that."

The poor dog was staring at me, too, and his tail was between his legs and he was being submissive. The two raiders carrying weapons said nothing to me, and the one with the sledgehammer approached. I looked down at him.

"I can almost smell the fear coming off you."

The raider swung his sledgehammer at me, and I swung my paw at it (a move I developed for people stupid enough to get into close quarters with me). My counter snapped the sledgehammer in two and my other paw took the raider's life.

The other raider started shooting at me, but his weapon was no good (lady luck really smiles down on me more often than not, all things considered). Most of his bullets missed, and a final attempt at shooting me made the gun actually blow up in his hand. The explosion didn't harm anybody but him. Shrapnel tore through his hand and he was gushing arterial blood. He ran off to die of blood loss somewhere.

It was around then that I smelt something in the air, and I looked at the third raider. He actually peed all over himself and ran away. I had a feeling that he'd be sailing straight from now on. I found that to be very, very funny.

Now, I looked to the dog. He was still being submissive, and I wondered if _I_ was actually the reason he ran off. Nonetheless, the look in his eyes... it was as if he was expecting me.

"Are you Buck?" I asked. His ears perked up at his name, and he stared at me. I slowly approached to show that I was no threat, and I cut through the rope that bound him to the pole.

"Come, let's get you back to Big Town. The Super Mutants are gone."

I didn't need to say more to get him to follow me.

Buck never said a word to me, so I don't know what he sounded like. All I know is I crossed the bridge to see Dogmeat waiting by Big Town, but Milly wasn't around (I later found out she was still tending the wounded).

Dogmeat ran out to meet with me, and Buck slowed to acknowledge him.

_"Did you find anything?" _Asked Dogmeat. I gestured with one paw towards the bridge.

"There was a raider camp off the bridge a little. They had this dog."

_"One of the humans is complaining about a lost dog. He's waiting by the second house on the left in town."_

I looked down at Buck. "Well? Let's get you back home."

I started to wonder if Buck was capable of speech as I took him to meet his master again. The boy stared up at me in awe at first, and then he noticed the dog by my side.

"...Buck?"

Buck trotted up to the boy and licked his face. Almost immediately, the human knelt to his height and was playing with the pooch.

I decided to wait by the clinic for Milly so I didn't have to watch that, and Dogmeat decided that I made the right decision and followed me.

_"What made you find the raider camp?"_

I shrugged. I figured Dogmeat wouldn't believe that some mysterious guy from my past told me to do it, so I just called it a hunch and left it at that. Dogmeat dropped it quickly and looked back at the boy and his dog.

_"I don't look like that with Milly, do I?"_

I snorted. "No, you're fine."

_"Good."_

I looked down at Dogmeat. "What, are you afraid that I'd think you were being sensitive?"

This time, Dogmeat snorted. He looked up at me. _"That would make me sick."_

_**Revolution! Revolution!**_

Manifest Destiny is a pre-war American goal: The desire to expand and know the east and the west; the desire to expand "from sea to shining sea". In young America, it was a nice idea. For Caesar's Legion, it was domination.

Really, how would the Legion's "Manifest Destiny" be any different from young America? The new country would harm those that got in the way and do what it needed to get what it wanted. The Legion would harm those that got in the way and do what it needed to get what it wanted. It had control of territory in the east already (not past the Mississippi), and it wanted the west... but that which stood in the way of the west was the NCR. They controlled the west, and so far managed to stay the Legion from any progress there.

The NCR was one of two topics that Caesar and his top Centurions met about in 2277. Even Legate Graham had a chair in the meeting.

"I expect to hold Hoover Dam this year, Graham. If we can take the Mojave, it will devastate the NCR. That victory will ensure all others. We will have the west."

Graham said nothing in return. He often required no words in order to speak. Caesar commanded it, and so it would be.

Caesar was so sure of his Legion succeeding that he already made his plans to take the west. Jumping the gun like that would be bitter-sweet for him. In one sense, his Legion would not succeed that year and he would tar, burn, and throw Joshua Graham into the Grand Canyon, but in another sense, he already had his plan for when he eventually would succeed, if at all.

With that issue out of the way, Caesar turned his attention to the former capital of the USA- Washington, D.C. Not a month earlier, he sent Legionaries to assist a young woman in a campaign against the Enclave. How he got his Legion to D.C in such little time is not known to any but Graham. Some say he used a vertibird, because one was seen leaving the Fort shortly before the attack on the Enclave. Others say his Legion got there so quickly because he commanded it. Others still say that the Enclave doesn't exist, and people shouldn't believe in fairy tales.

Caesar's interest in D.C was obvious to many: to have the former capital of the USA under Legion control would essentially complete his goal.

"What news of D.C?"

"Marcus returned not long ago. The profligate you put so much faith in was successful, Caesar."

"Then the Enclave is wiped out?"

"The Enclave is wiped out."

Caesar leaned back in his chair.

"Excellent. We shall make haste for D.C immediately."

Now, Graham intervened.

"Caesar, to attack D.C now while we have the threat of the NCR still live would thin our numbers. We would do well to focus on one threat before moving on to another."

All was quiet for a few moments. Disputing orders by Caesar himself was either punishable by slow death, or well rewarded. In this case, Graham lived another day.

"If we attack D.C too soon, we will lose the dam. You're right."

"We should focus on the dam now, and only when it is under our banner should we bother with D.C."

Caesar acknowledged Graham's presence with the nod of his head.

"Yes, that's the best course of action here. Do not fail me, Graham."

Joshua Graham would bow to Caesar that day, but he would fail. The Legion would not take the dam in 2277, and Joshua Graham would become the mythical Burned Man. The Legion would not succeed until a Courier with two bullets in his head came along, and D.C would not see the true fury of Caesar's Legion until then.

End of Chapter

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**3,489 words.**

**I just got done with the DLC for New Vegas today. It was O.K, but I'm not such a big fan of Sierra Madre. Mainly because my controller kept turning off whenever the collar started beeping. Any other time, it was fine. Assume the DLC for New Vegas doesn't exist in this story. As for Fallout 3, well... you think whatever you want.**

**Milly can't enslave Red from Big Town because:**

**1- She's not evil.**

**2- Paradise Falls broke last story, and only a few weeks passed since the end of "Beneath This Gruff Exterior" and now.**

**Next chapter takes place in 2278, and covers the end of an attack on Evergreen Mills, among other things. It should be a bit shorter.**


	3. People Are Very Strange II

**Chapter 2**

**People Are Very Strange II**

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**"If you can't remember, the claymore is pointed towards you."**

**-Unknown**

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**2278**

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Spies try to get used to the idea of people wanting them dead. It comes with just about any mission you do. Even if you're doing simple scouting (that's what I do when I'm sent on missions alone), you have to keep your eyes open in case someone is nearby. The idea is, you get used to the idea of gunfights around any corner, but those gunfights only rarely come.

Very rarely is a spy sent on a kill mission with the Brotherhood of Steel, but it happens. Milly wouldn't last against all of Evergreen Mills alone. There are dozens of raiders pumped full of chems, so they aren't good shots, but... there's power in numbers.

They intended on sending Milly and a few paladins, but I wanted to go, and Dogmeat will be damned if someone else orders him to do something.

The intel we were working with suggested that someone on the Brotherhood of Steel's list of 10 most wanted was hiding out in Evergreen Mills. His name was "Smiling" Jack. I think it was actually "Smilin'" Jack, but the Brotherhood likes its grammar. He was wanted for "aiding and abetting known hostiles against the Brotherhood of Steel", which basically means he did something that Elder Lyons didn't like. I don't know the gory details (Milly studies the files for our missions), but our intel was good in the sense that "Smiling" Jack was in the area.

Our intel _didn't_ tell us that they had a Super Mutant Behemoth caged up and angry. A Super Mutant Behemoth is... they are legends. Some people have seen them (Milly claims to have killed one before, but I don't believe her), but they aren't seen enough to be confirmed as existing.

They are typically between 30 and 50 feet tall, and can take a lot of abuse. Even a .50 caliber round, which can be lethal for a Deathclaw hardly makes a Behemoth flinch. Supposedly. Anything that uses .50 caliber rounds were illegal in D.C before the war, so they aren't in the area.

The point is, they are very difficult to kill. The thing took all the abuse we threw at it (it nearly crushed Dogmeat and I), and we had to flee into a nearby building and wait for it to rage its way into the wastes somewhere. If it turned up again, we'd finish it.

Now, avoiding the attack of a Behemoth sounds relatively easy, but add attacking raiders to the mix and you have quite a few bullet wounds (the Behemoth attacked us and raiders alike; it was an equal opportunity asshole).

In the end, Milly staggered into the building with a bullet in her leg and her armor all but shredded, my torso was littered with bullet wounds, and Dogmeat had a clean entry and exit wound towards his hindquarters.

That wound should have killed Dogmeat, but he's a tough old pooch. His is a unique case among mutants: he has a high tolerance for pain and injury, and what should be a lethal wound may not be for him... but even with the mutations born of radiation exposure (he thinks he's sterile now), he managed to keep his coat. He's strong, but... nobody is immortal.

In this case, Dogmeat needed his wounds cleaned and dressed, and Milly needed the same thing. Once they were both dealt with, it was my turn... but since the threat was still live (we locked up the door in case any raiders tried to follow us), all I needed was a stimpack to keep me going.

In regards to "Smilin'" Jack, I like to say that though my claws took his life, it was Milly who controlled the arm. I may not have been able to fight through the raiders in the building (most were outside) if it weren't for her quick patch job.

He had a hell of a shotgun, though. I don't recall the name of the type it was (shotguns make too much noise for my liking, even as a kid when I admired guns and didn't yet know how poorly I controlled them), but carved into the side was "The Terrible Shotgun". I had to agree with the name. He managed to shoot me in the gut, and I was lucky to be a reasonable distance in the room, or else it might have done some considerable damage. I wasn't sure if Milly was a fan of shotguns or not (she would use one from time to time, but never really talked about it), but I decided to take it to her after I was done with Jack there.

She had a bolt-action rifle that she called "Bolt", and she was starting to refer to her Steyr AUG as "Cookie Monster", because modifications that she was never able to quite undo made its fire rate above average, and so it used more ammo more quickly.

I kept trying to get her to name one of her handguns "Crime" and another "Punishment", but she thought that was stupid. Her rejection of those names made me scrap my idea of naming her armor "Shit Happens".

I digress. The fight between the raiders inside the building and I did not last for longer than five minutes. I took additional injury before Jack, but being a Deathclaw, I could shrug off injuries from raiders with awful weapons (the Enclave had some good quality weaponry and aren't always drunk or high when we encounter them, so they are far more dangerous).

"Smilin'" Jack was entrenched when I entered the door and he fired three times. Two of the shots weren't on target and missed me altogether (some of the spread hit a raider cowering in a corner), and the third got me, but I was far enough away for the injuries to be minor. Shotguns are close-ranged weapons. Anyone that tries to use them from too far away is an idiot.

Additionally, anyone that fires upon a deathclaw three times before realizing that the gun wasn't fully loaded to begin with is either drunk, or very stupid. "Smilin'" Jack was both. The worst thing you can ever hear while fighting a deathclaw other than another deathclaw approaching would be the sound of your gun being empty.

Some people try to resort to melee weapons, such as knives and swords. That just doesn't work. Deathclaws are hard enough to kill from a distance. Close quarters combat is where a deathclaw is most at home. Drawing a Jim Bowie on a deathclaw might as well be the equivalent of offering a shave and a haircut. And you get ripped to shreds as payment.

I mention melee weapons because that was the mistake Smilin' Jack made when his shotgun was empty. What's more, he thought he could kill me with a pen knife. There are some unusual ways to kill a Deathclaw (I had a buddy that claimed he threw a grenade down a Deathclaw's throat before, and I believe him), but you just can't do it with a pen knife. A pen knife wound is the equivalent of a paper cut for a deathclaw. I know because I got a few paper cuts in that fight before I took him down.

To his credit, Smilin' Jack lasted longer than most people do against my claws. It took three or so hits before he went down. For a human with little armor on, that was impressive.

After taking him out and picking up his shotgun, I walked back to Milly. When I got to her, she managed to treat her leg, but she was relying on the uninjured one. I frowned, and approached as quietly as possible in case the Behemoth showed up.

We would've had some backup, but a stray bullet destroyed her walkie talkie in the chaos outside. All was silent when I got to her, and I could hear no commotion outside, either.

Milly's Steyr AUG was also shot and rendered useless. She was stuck with either her Walther P99 (given to her not long after we destroyed the Enclave's final base), or her Beretta Tomcat (a weapon she carried in an ankle holster for last ditch efforts at staying alive. So far, she still hasn't used it).

She chose her Walther over the Beretta Tomcat, because the latter is a very small weapon, and is not suitable for crowd control (granted, a handgun isn't the best choice for multiple targets). I handed her the shotgun, but even she didn't know what kind it was.

I sort of wished that Smilin' Jack started reloading the shotgun, but he couldn't. He didn't have any ammunition left for the weapon, so it became essentially baggage. I thought we were just going to make a run for base now, but Milly still wanted to free the slaves from their pens. I told her that we should just leave, but she told me we had to see if the slaves were alive first.

So, we unlocked the door as quietly as we could, and Dogmeat poked his nose outside.

_"The big green man is gone. The raiders out there are either dead or dying. No danger."_

I double checked, and he was right. The Super Mutant Behemoth fled into the wastes, and the smell of blood and soft groans indicated the truth in his second statement. We went outside, and Milly executed the dying raiders (there were only four), and then we checked the slave pens.

There were massive dents in the metal bars that made up the cage, and one or two slaves were killed by the Behemoth before it got bored and left. I know the Behemoth could have broken through the cage after a few hits, but I guess it wanted to find something easier to kill. The raiders unintentionally saved most of their slaves.

"I'm going to get this cage unlocked," said Milly. She approached, and Dogmeat followed her. I was about to follow, but something caught my eye on a rocky outcrop not far off.

"I think I see movement," I said to Milly, pointing at the silhouette arousing my suspicion. She drew her pistol (as if she could do anything about the possible attacker), but nodded her head towards the rocks.

"I don't think I can make a shot from here. I can't even see it. Go check it out, Cord."

_"Want help?"_

I started towards the silhouette, and I shook my head. "I got this."

I made my footfalls as silent as I could while I approached. Whatever I saw got down from the rocks, but not quickly, so I thought it didn't know I was coming. When I was close enough, I ran around the rocks to try and surprise whoever it was, but he was expecting me.

At least he wasn't hostile. It was the time-era-challenged man. He was simply poking at a fire with a stick, and I started to wonder how he got it going so quickly.

"Remember me, Cord?" he asked while poking his fire. I nodded my head.

"I wouldn't forget someone dressed like you," I said. He didn't aknowledge my statement. We were both silent for a few moments.

"You never told me your name," I remarked. He was silent for another moment, and then put the stick down and started trying to warm himself with the fire.

"So, in the end, you saved that dog."

I did.

"Does it feel... familiar to you, Cord?"

"Does what feel familiar?" I asked. He wouldn't make eye contact with me.

"You seeked out that dog for the same reason you seeked out Milly: Someone told you to do it. You did it because a stranger told you to. You know what I think?"

"Who are you?"

"I believe that you have many more attachments to higher ups than you think. You won't admit it, but Milly is your master, just as I was your master a year ago, just as John Henry Eden was your master a year ago. You make a convincing animal, Cord."

"Milly is my friend. She is not my master, and you were never my master. I don't have a master. I only looked for the dog because it was the right thing to do."

"You looked for the dog because something told you it was right."

"It was innate."

"How is an innate feeling that tells you something is right any different from a person telling you something is right?"

I was silent. Finally, the man looked at me.

"She decides where you all go and when. She praises and scolds, smiles and frowns. She owns you."

I didn't know who this man was, but I knew his type. He's the sort that feels good when others are angered by his statements. I didn't want to play his games (I tried to stay civil with him), so I put my paws to the sides.

"What can I say? I'm whipped without being in a relationship."

I only caught the slightest trace of it. This man was good at staying stoic. If I blinked, I would've missed it... but for a brief moment, I was able to see... it was almost disappointment on his face. It was as if he was prepared to argue some more, and my light joke defused the situation early.

The look was there for only a moment, and then the man kicked dirt over the fire.

"Cord, one of those slaves needs medical help. Milly can't help him without proper supplies. There is a medical crate not far down the road with plenty of supplies in it. Why don't you take it back to help the man? Or just take enough to help Milly with her injuries. The man isn't anywhere near his old home and so his death is very likely either way."

"Who are you?" I asked again. The man stayed by what was once his fire, and he began to ignore me. Knowing I wasn't going to get an answer out of him, I decided to look for the medical crate he mentioned. I knew that it wasn't going to be too far out of the way, because as we approached Evergreen Mills, we passed by a crate with a red cross on it, but because it wasn't mission critical, we left it behind. It wouldn't be a problem for me to lift, but it was far too bulky to carry.

So when I did lift it and start carrying it back to Evergreen Mills, I was more or less defenseless. The crate was so bulky that I couldn't throw it very well. It wasn't a weight issue, it was a size issue. I wondered what it was doing there before the war, but I couldn't very well find out, could I?

When I looked back at where that man was when I saw him, he was gone. So too were all traces of the fire he was tending. It was like he was never there. I didn't stop, but that bothered me for a long time.

When I waddled back into view, Milly was trying to tend to the injured slave. Needless to say, when I showed up with the crate, she eyed me in wonder.

"How did you-"

I didn't think she would believe me if I told her some ghost directed me. Instead, I told her I figured we could use it for her injuries, and it was lucky the slave was here, too. She bought my excuse, and inwardly I wondered how bad lying to her like this would be.

I'm not intent on betraying her ever again. I won't do that twice in a lifetime. I was just thinking to myself... and I was so deep in thought that I zoned out, and when I came to again, Milly had the slave stable, and she using a crutch to move about without me.

I never exactly understood what was wrong with the slave (I never really asked), but I do know that when he was able to (Milly shot him up with adrenaline so he had some energy), he hugged her gratefully and even approached me with a grin on his face.

"Thank you!" he said, his words practically dripping with gratitude.

I didn't do much but smile back down at him.

"You saved me from death!"

I didn't say much else as he walked back to the other slaves. They weren't as happy to be free as he was. They felt like there were plenty more raiders nearby, but the Behemoth actually killed just about everything that wasn't in a building or a cage within a half mile of Evergreen Mills (I think). As it turned out, they fled to a place called the "Temple of the Union" for protection. It is where all escaped slaves go, and it is where I might have ended up going if Milly and I never teamed up.

After Milly further treated her leg, I carried her all the way back to the Citadel. Once the story was relayed to Elder Lyons, we were all given down time for our injuries, Milly's armor was repaired, and "Smilin'" Jack was crossed off the Brotherhood's Most Wanted list.

As for the Behemoth... well, let's just say it decided to see what would happen if it messed with a little place called Tenpenny Tower. I hate the guards and the man that owns the place (he's also wanted, but he's too connected to be dealt with), but I have to admit: they're pretty good if they can take down a Behemoth before it even gets to the gate.

I wonder how Caterina is doing...

End of Chapter

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**2,985 words.**

**I don't really have much to say about this chapter, but I can say that the next few chapters are going to zoom through a few years.**

**Next chapter covers an attack on Fort Bannister in 2279.**


	4. People Are Very Strange III

**Chapter 3**

**People Are Very Strange III**

* * *

**"If you die in an elevator, be sure to push the up button."**

**-Sam Levenson**

* * *

_**2279**_

* * *

On our down time about a year after Evergreen Mills (it ironically became another part of the Temple of the Union), the black hearted mercs that called themselves "Talon Company" killed a guy named Butch DeLoria in cold blood. DeLoria was working on building up a gang out of Rivet City called the "Tunnel Snakes", and he was formerly the guy that bullied Milly on and off throughout her time in the Vault.

He apologized profusely sometime in 2277 after Milly made a return to the Vault, because she saved his mother's life while trying to escape the Vault and he never got to thank her until then. He became a good friend to her (but she had no interest in him romantically, and I started to wonder if she was asexual), and he even accompanied us on a few wasteland explorations.

He was never comfortable with me around Milly. He was always convinced that I was an Enclave plant, but Milly always smiled and told him she trusted me with her life. Then I'd report back to John Henry Eden on my infiltration. I'm kidding! Just kidding!

Still, he went from being a childhood bully to a good friend. He wasn't the hero type, but he felt like he owed Milly (the whole wasteland does), and so he'd do these things and follow her without question.

Needless to say, when the Talon Mercs killed him (they tried to say that it was an accident, because Milly was responsible for the death of their original leader in 2277), Milly took it personally. The Talon Mercs feared her, and for good reason: This is the woman that shot her way into a Talon Company base (out of a store), and killed the leader at the time with the help of the Brotherhood of Steel because they fired a bullet that grazed Dogmeat.

Now, they had a new leader, and, after seeing how close they came to disarray from Milly's previous attack, they moved into a placed called "Fort Bannister". The leader was named Tom Prescott, and he was almost as bad as Colonel Autumn was.

This was a kill mission. Milly wasn't going to leave anything standing. Fort Bannister was the center of Talon Company. It was the heart and soul. She pulled out all the stops, because there was no way we were getting in quietly. She agreed to wear heavy armor, carry a riot shield, and receive backup from other Paladins and covert operatives.

It was here that we had our first real tensions with the Brotherhood. She had to call in a bunch of favors to get this mission approved. It was her own self-made mission, and it was happening with or without help from the Brotherhood. Lyons said he saw a daughter in Milly, but really he just was afraid of losing one of his best spies. He was going to deny her assistance in avenging Butch, but after she convinced him that she was going to do it anyway, he relented.

The sheer amount of armor she wore slowed her movements to a walk. She was wearing so much armor that nobody could tell from far away if she was a male or female. Her head was covered by a ski mask, a helmet, and goggles. No part of her body was spared. What she wore now was the equivalent of Power Armor, except it was harder on movement.

The Brotherhood called a person wearing this amount of armor a Juggernaut- an unstoppable force or being capable of incredible destruction. Using that armor is one of the advantages to being with the Brotherhood of Steel. One of the big differences between that armor and Power Armor is the fact that you don't need special training to use the armor she was wearing now. Also, Power Armor can be disabled by certain weapons. This armor can be disabled, too... but that requires high explosives or dozens of bullets.

The mission was almost going to be too hot for Dogmeat and I to go along on, but as we always do, we found ways to help Milly. We'd go for the mission, but Dogmeat was more for moral support and I was to help keep mercs from flanking her. She and the other Brotherhood members joining her were all either Juggernauts or in Power Armor (Milly isn't a huge fan of Power Armor for some reason), and all carried riot shields. We all boarded several Vertibirds (the one we were in was large enough that I didn't have to fold up to fit inside), and we headed to Fort Bannister late at night a week after Butch was killed.

The trip was quiet, except for the pilot giving us ETA every so often. At ETA 60 seconds, Milly put her mask, goggles, and helmet on, and checked her gun- an FN SCAR-L. It had an ACOG scope on it, but that would not be needed until we either infiltrated, or the riot shield was shot to hell and was useless. She'd be trying to fire it using one arm, and that's difficult. Still, the Brotherhood did a few tricks to reduce the kick, and so when she rehearsed using the weapon with one hand, her arm didn't dislocate or snap in two.

Her accuracy was severly limited, but at least her arm wasn't. Heavy armor doesn't account for much if you don't have a decent weapon. Don't ever buy into those stories of humans surviving in the wasteland unarmed. You may have a decent left jab, but if you don't have a power fist (and the Brotherhood goes out of its way to collect them), then you're going to lose if the other guy has a gun. If you have heavy armor, you'll still probably lose. Just slower.

When we landed, the pilot instructed Milly to try and get them to surrender first, and she said she would.

Of course, when Milly is _this_ pissed off, her word may be questionable. We stepped out of the Vertibird, and almost immediately we were being fired upon by Talon Company. Milly crouched with the riot shield up, and though she didn't say it, I knew she was thinking "Well, so much for surrendering".

Why people in the wasteland still make the mistake of angering Milly is beyond me. You'd think that a group of raiders would offer her food and water, and beg her not to kill them. She tells me I can be ferocious in quite a few battles. Even Kastine's mother would be impressed by Milly's fury at times.

Side note: Kastine finally got around to forgiving me about a year after I betrayed Milly, so we're cool too.

I digress. Being shot at is such a natural occurance in D.C that it's easy to lose track of what you might be saying.

We touched down about 100 meters from Fort Bannister, and the Vertibirds in the air were enough to wake the dead, so the Fort was on high alert. Again, there wasn't much to be done in regards to sneaking.

Progress was slow, and the sound of bullets hitting the riot shields hurt my ears. Dogmeat stayed behind Milly like she wanted him to, and I watched her back, too.

It was good I came along, because a deathclaw was sprinting towards the racket everybody was making. The Brotherhood could have killed him, but wasting time on him would allow the Mercs to outmaneuver them.

I stopped him, and he stared at the battle behind me.

_"Oh, you're the human's pet... I remember you. You have a name for yourself in Deathclaw Sanctuary."_

I said nothing, and the deathclaw eyed me while he continued.

_"Who should I kill for waking me up? The lumpy humans, the lumpy human with the food following it, or should I kill you for standing in my way?"_

I gestured towards Fort Bannister.

"You should kill the humans in the rock building. They're the reason behind all the noise."

The deathclaw snorted. _"Nice try..."_ he said, at which point a bullet almost caught him in the arm. His head shot to look in the direction the shot came from, and he saw a Talon Merc attacking.

So those are the humans he went after. The Talon Mercs. He was gunned down after about thirty seconds, but he managed to take out two and distract most others, so, in spite of their clunky armor, Milly and her backup was able to close a lot of the distance between the base and them.

One or two of the Brotherhood juggernauts actually knocked down a few Talon Mercs because the idiots couldn't figure out how to get out of the way of the riot shields. Once they were down, they surrendered their lives to a few bullets.

By the time we made it into the Fort, Dogmeat killed nobody and I killed two. For once, I wasn't the one attracting the bullets. The heavily armored Brotherhood team was more of a threat than I was. I wondered briefly what would happen if you dressed a deathclaw up in the armor they were wearing. I shivered, imagining the Brotherhood trying to cram my body into that armor. Vertibirds, I can handle. Armor? Uhh... no.

What kind of perception problem would I have to think I could?

Milly's riot shield was busted finally, and she stood up. The Talon Mercs that were still alive thought that taking out the riot shields was a good idea, but it really wasn't. Without the riot shields, these Brotherhood guys had two hands to hold their weapons, which meant more bullets fired, which meant more deaths, which meant slightly faster progress, and of course, since they were using two hands, their accuracy was much better.

We still lost two or three guys out of an eight man team (discluding Milly, Dogmeat, and I). The sheer ammunition required to finally punch through that armor was impressive, though.

It was about ten minutes into clearing out the base that Milly got sick of the clumsy armor she was told to wear. She took a few layers of it off (but left enough on to protect her a little), and sighed in relief when she took the mask off. The armor must've been very hot, because she was sweating so badly that it looked like somebody filled her armor with water. She grimaced from behind cover for a moment and fingered her hair.

"I need a bath."

I snorted in the air a few times, and though I couldn't really smell anything offensive coming from her (the mercs smelt bad enough), I grimaced.

"I'll say."

She playfully threw the helmet she was wearing at me, and I smiled.

"101, are you out of your mind? Get that armor on right now!" shouted one of the Brotherhood members. Milly looked at him.

"You're not in the position to command me. Get back to the attack, FNG!" she shouted.

Milly doesn't shout that much when she's angry at friends or family. The only reason she does it to the Brotherhood is because they only understand if it's a few decibels higher than normal. Milly had to shout at Elder Lyons to get him to understand that the attack on Fort Bannister was happening either way.

She got into hot water for removing her heavy armor before being instructed to later on, but at the moment she was able to move around easier. She took fewer bullets without the armor on, ironically. Maybe it was because the heavily armored Brotherhood backup was more of a threat than Milly.

I couldn't blame Talon Company for shooting at the juggernauts more often than Milly. Seeing those walking kevlar vests lumbering towards you has to be terrifying.

Inside the building, Dogmeat and I had a few opportunities to join in on the attack. When we got into hallways or corridors, Dogmeat and I were able to fight more. When we were in large open rooms... not so much.

Still, the attack on Fort Bannister was one of those times where everything seemed to go right for us. Dogmeat and I made it out of the Fort without being shot once. Dogmeat said it was because I cowered behind the juggernauts, and I told him he cowered behind me.

After the resulting argument, we both compromised and said neither cowered at all.

I digress.

Fort Bannister has a first floor followed by five sub-levels, and once you got through the first floor (where security was the strongest), the floors below were a little easier.

Some people view the leader of an organization like Talon Company as being bigger, meaner, and stronger than everybody else. The leader of an organization is often made out to be super-strong. In reality, the leader is almost always flesh and blood (barring mutation), and it doesn't take much to put him or her down. Take Autumn for instance. He was made out to be this big force of evil, and he succumbed like any other human given the conditions placed upon him by Milly (a few bullets).

It works both ways, though. We had to be careful, nonetheless. Once we got to the fourth floor (losing two more of our team), we had one of the Juggernauts kick down the final door on the floor.

The Juggernaut was mowed down almost instantly by two laser turrets. That's another thing the Juggernaut armor and Power Armor don't have in common: Power Armor has more resistance to laser weaponry than the heavy armor did.

A bang-ball was the solution to the turrets and whoever was inside the room. It would overload the turrets and temporarily disable them. That gave us the chance to destroy the two turrets in the room.

The remaining Juggernauts stayed behind at Milly's command, because she wanted to be the one to kill the leader of Talon Company again. The fight was quick. She said no words to the man, and he said nothing to her. All he did was back up until his back was to a wall, and he tried to shoot Milly with a Beretta Tomcat.

That was all he carried to protect himself. He had a false sense of security. Milly quickly showed him the error of his ways.

He got four shots off, missing every time. Milly fired three times with her SCAR-L, and he spun around 180 degrees, and fell down a flight of stairs. Milly approached his body, and then looked over her shoulder at the door the dead Juggernaut kicked in.

"Hey, I'm going to set the charges on the fifth level! It's one room, and I see no movement," she called to the other Brotherhood members.

"Right. We'll set the charges throughout the rest of the building. Meet us where we landed, and we'll set off the fireworks when you're ready."

Milly used silence as her response. She was still investigating Prescott's body. That didn't bother me at all.

What bothered me was the time-era man standing over her shoulder without being noticed by anybody but me. Milly stood up and started down the staircase with Dogmeat close behind. As she said, my eyes were starting to deteriorate, but I was still strong enough with vision to tell who the man was. I frowned as he approached me.

"So, in the end... you decided to help that slave."

"Who are you?" I whispered, trying not to be heard by Milly or Dogmeat. As he always did, he ignored my question.

"I don't understand why you did it if you have no master."

"It was the right thing to do."

"The right thing to do? Cord, the definition of "health" is just 'the slowest possible rate a human being can die.' Was it really right to keep him from death?"

"Why do you care?" I asked. He looked back at the stairs Prescott fell down.

"Everything mortal will die sooner or later, but mortality itself does not. Mortality is immortal."

"By that logic, therefore death is life?" I asked.

"Death is a part of life. Nobody is afraid of dying, Cord. Everybody is afraid of what happens after."

"Who are you?" I asked again.

"When held at gunpoint, an unarmed man does not fear death or the gun. An unarmed man will fear the unknown the bullet brings."

"Who are you?"

"The courageous have fear. Those who do not fear death may fear the unknown."

"Who are you?"

He looked up at me.

"Is there nothingness, a paradise, or a Hell? We all find out. You know why you wanted your humanity back?"

I stared.

"You feared the unknown the new body bought. This is why you are a coward, Cord. This is why you, like so many others... are afraid."

We were both silent for a few moments. I was trying desperately to avoid attacking him.

"Let God be the one to lecture me," was all I said in response.

"Oh, don't worry. You will be judged. I'll see you around, Cord."

The man walked off, and I thought that, since he didn't give me another task or anything, I wouldn't be seeing him again.

I didn't let thoughts of him bother me too long. Once Milly was done setting the rest of the charges, we all left the base. Once we all met (after the Brotherhood members that fell were removed from the base), it was Milly's honor to destroy the base.

Talon Company survived after Milly's first attack because she did not destroy the files in their original base that informed them of all contracts. With that, a weasel like Prescott was able to revive the Company in a new home.

Even after this attack, Talon Company may still survive... but such a humiliating defeat would ultimately crush them to little more than a petty nuisance.

Sure enough, Milly smiled when she detonated the explosives, and she buried Talon Company's ferocious reputation with what was once known as Fort Bannister.

End of Chapter

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**3,039 words.**

**This story isn't going to be as goofy as Beneath This Gruff Exterior was. It's still going to have a lot of humor as it unfolds, but for the most part, it'll be somber.**

**The plot really starts to take off in 2281. What we've covered so far is pretty slow, but it's necessary to build up to the big year. 2281 is the year we see some changes, the plot really engages, we meet new characters, and Milly will leave D.C. There are plenty of other twists.**

**Additionally, once we hit 2281 (not next chapter but the one after), you won't see the year below the chapter's quote anymore. When you don't see a year under the quote in a chapter, assume the year hasn't changed.**

**The Juggernauts were just me deciding to take a dump on _Call of Duty_. Survival Mode is fun until it isn't anymore, and then you have to stop immediately.**

**Next chapter will likely be short. It's covering Milly, Dogmeat, and Cord simply wandering the wasteland and talking. There's more, but... that's all I can really say.**


	5. People Are Very Strange IV

**Chapter 4**

**People Are Very Strange IV**

* * *

**"I intend to live forever. So far, so good."**

**-Steven Wright**

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_**2280**_

* * *

Milly is almost always busy. She very rarely has time off. It's not that the Brotherhood always has something for her to do; the hours are actually very fair. She just can't sit still. We go to her home in Megaton often, but we don't stay there all day unless it's absoultely pouring outside or if she's sick.

Even when there's no problems to fix, we just wander around and talk with each other. We tease each other, laugh, and argue from time to time, but I still love them both and I know that this love is returned.

Alright, that's crap. I do love them, though.

I bring up the busy schedule because Milly's favorite thing in the world to do when she isn't busy fixing problems is wander. She says she always loved to wander around.

I think she can't sit still because she was in a Vault for so long. Now, it's like she's making up for being stowed away in Vault 101 for 19 years. I'm not complaining. Wandering the wasteland with Milly and Dogmeat is one of my favorite things to do.

We were mostly quiet for the first half hour as we walked, but eventually Milly piped up.

"Cord, let me ask you something."

"Shoot."

"How did you become so comfortable with who you are now so soon? When I met you, you never once mentioned your humanity. Not until after we defeated the Enclave, anyway."

"Are you kidding? This mutation destroyed me. It took a long time to get used to things. It took Kastine telling me to stop chasing the past to get me to accept what happened."

She stopped walking and I did the same. She looked up at me, curious.

"But you're always so cool about it; so collected..."

"I hide it well, I guess."

I started walking again with an air of "here endeth the lesson". Milly jogged after me until she caught up, and then walked my speed.

"Does it still bother you? You can talk to Dogmeat and I, you know. We'd gladly listen."

There was a question. Was I really bothered anymore? I lost all that I had (which, regrettably, wasn't much to begin with), and I had to learn to walk and run over a few weeks. It took all this time as a deathclaw to master this body. Up until around now, I still couldn't figure out how to move in some ways. It took me a year and a half to master the running jump. Now, I can run on all fours if I need to (I usually don't need to).

It bothered me deeply in 2277, obviously. After I betrayed Milly and came to my senses again, all that's really haunted me is that. The betrayal, that is.

"It doesn't bother me when I'm around you guys," I offered. She smiled up at me, and then looked straight ahead.

"Three years ago, when I was escaping the Vault, I never thought I'd be saved by a deathclaw. Actually treating one for wounds was out of the question, too."

I smiled down at her.

_"Do you remember if she injected you with a stimpack?"_

I turned my head to Dogmeat as we walked. "Oh, come on. That was an isolated incident."

He snorted. Milly looked down at Dogmeat with a smile.

"I'm glad you're amused now. Cord will get a few laughs soon. You reek, Dogmeat."

Have you ever seen a dog stop midstep, frozen with one paw held in the air. That's exactly what Dogmeat did when she said that.

It took him a little while, but eventually he managed to connect "You reek, Dogmeat" to "You're getting a bath in the near future, Dogmeat". Once he figured that out, he'd do whatever he could to avoid having the bath. It could be kind of annoying at times, but Milly actually enjoyed the struggles Dogmeat put up. Otherwise, she would've stopped hinting at bath time.

He wouldn't ever run away when she mentioned a bath, because that would mean breaking the promise he made himself: protect Milly, and do so beyond death.

That's what he told me, anyway. I think deep down, he kind of likes bath time for the attention he gets from Milly. He likes it and hates it. Mostly hates it.

It was one of the few peaceful days we had in the Capital Wasteland. We encountered no hostility as we wandered.

Needless to say, when we set up camp, we were all in a good mood.

And then as I went to relieve myself, that man that I last saw in Fort Bannister had to ruin everything. I scowled when I saw him, but I knew he'd probably follow me around until I acknowledged him, so I walked up and stood behind him.

He was just sort of staring out into the wasteland when I approached, and he wasn't armed. When I thought about it... he never was armed. He was essentially defenseless in the wasteland, yet his suit was always perfectly kept. The weather never made him sweat, gunfire never made him shake with adrenaline, a Super Mutant Behemoth didn't bother him... it was like he couldn't be harmed.

He spoke to me without even looking at me, which I felt was kind of rude... but he's done it so often, so why stop now?

"You know what's a great place to visit? Oasis."

Now, I stood beside him and he looked up at me.

"You'd like it there, Cord. I really think you would."

"Great, listen... what's your name?" I asked, practically demanding it and at the same time staying civil. As usual, he deflected my question.

"Listen, Cord-"

"No. Tell me your name and where you know me from."

"Well, I know you from Big Town, I know you from Evergreen Mills, I know you from Fort Bannister... I know you from all over."

"You know that's not what I mean."

He looked back out at the wasteland again.

"This world was nearly devestated and stripped of life. Do you think it would've become another Venus? Do you think it would be an oven that could cook, burn, and crush you? Maybe it would become a bigger Mars; freezing cold with little atmosphere..."

I shrugged, still irritated with him.

"Really, it could become neither of these things. It's interesting to think of, though."

I was silent.

"That's why Oasis is such a nice place. It helps you get away from this world while remaining part of it. Your troubles wait outside Oasis."

"Maybe I'll go there one day," I muttered.

"That's correct. You will."

We were both silent for a moment.

"Anyway, there's a woman hiding in the wreckage of an old barn not far from here, waiting for her husband. Both were attacked while heading for Megaton by raiders. She escaped, but the man is dead. It's only a matter of time before they find her. Why don't you get rid of them and allow her closure? Either that, or forget what I said and go back to Milly. She likely won't know the difference."

"Who are you?" I asked again.

He was silent, and he resumed staring out at the wasteland. I knew he'd be ignoring me until I left, so that's what I did.

I'll admit I wasn't planning on helping that woman out, but I could smell raiders and fear coming off a human in a barn not too far away. I paused, looked over my shoulder at the smoke from Milly's fire, and then in the direction the scent of the raiders was coming from.

I reasoned that the raiders may see the smoke from her fire and attack the camp, so I decided to take them out, and while I was at it, I'd try to help the woman. Still, I let out a reluctant sigh as I started running in the direction of the raiders.

Raiders tend not to split up too often because they're stronger in numbers and they aren't smart. That's a bitter sweet tendency for all predators. Whether you're a wild dog, a Yao Guai, a Deathclaw, or a human, there's power in numbers. Hurt someone in one on one combat, and you might get that person to recoil and allow for another attack on your part. Fight several people at once, and it becomes more difficult.

Still, my strength allows me to kill with only one or two swipes of my claws on lightly armored humans. Enclave members dressed in heavy armor were difficult, if I remember right. I had to wait until I had an opening in the armor to defeat them usually.

Then again, I'd only been a deathclaw for a few months then. Recently, when we came across a few Enclave remnants in power armor, I tackled one to the ground and ripped his throat out with my teeth.

When I got to the group of raiders (five of them), they were immediately shooting at me. Since gunfire is a regular sound in the wasteland, I figured Milly would have a hand on her gun, but wouldn't investigate.

I caught a few bullets in my torso and one in my leg, but I ran towards them (they split up and kept shooting at me). I chose one with a decent weapon (an M1 Garand), and I knocked him to the ground and sliced him up with my claws.

I was still being shot at, though. Most of the bullets being fired upon me were from handguns and submachine guns (M1 Garand guy was the exception), so they didn't cause me much harm when they actually did hit me.

I took another one out as he went to reload, and a third ran out of ammo for his weapon and drew a Jim Bowie on me. He didn't last very long.

Targets #4 and 5 started to jog backwards while shooting at me, and they jogged in opposite directions with me in their middle.

Taking a fourth out was as simple as stepping out of the line of fire. Two of six bullets fired as I stepped out of the way took the fourth's life, and the fifth was lucky in the sense that number four couldn't hit the broad side of a burned out barn. I might have been able to shoot better than him.

...Well, maybe not.

I decided to try something new with the fifth and final raider. I approached him, knocked his weapon out of his hands, and lifted him up over my shoulder. I then proceeded to give him the ride of his life before eventually flinging him off my back as I ran top speed.

I didn't think he'd hit his head on a piece of debris and die, but once I saw that happen, I made a point of being extra careful when carrying Milly around.

I snorted in the air a few more times, searching for more raiders, and I found one. He was wearing the remnants of sports armor, and he wrote on the front in what I hoped was paint "111". I don't know why he did that, but I do know that he was killed before he managed to shoot me with his shotgun.

All in all, I took about 15 low caliber rounds and one shot from the M1 Garand (not deadly for a deathclaw, but fairly irritating). I snorted the air once more and picked up the scent of fear coming from a tiny shape not far to my south. As I ran towards it, it became a burned out barn like the man said.

I was reminded of the first time I met Milly; how I saved her from raiders in a burned out barn like this. In return, she dressed my wounds, and gave me a bandana in case we ever met again.

(If you aren't following along, we did.)

I was thinking about that first meeting with the girl that would become the only human that cared enough about me to let me live with her. That's why I was happy when I found the scared woman. She didn't share my enthusiasm at the sight of me, though. She let out an ear-piercing screech and for a moment I thought she was half-bat.

When she was done, I held out my paws to try and calm her.

"I am not here to harm you," I said, much like I said to Milly when I first met her. The woman's fear gave way quickly when she heard my voice. It was replaced by awe.

"You're... the Lone Wanderer's talking deathclaw," she said, stunned. I smiled as I offered a paw to help her stand.

"That's what they tell me," I said. She took hold of one of my fingers and gently pulled herself to her feet.

"Wow... that's incredible..."

Her voice trailed off. She frowned, and worry returned to her eyes.

"Have you seen my husband? He has black hair, he's a little taller than me, well built..."

I frowned. "The raiders took his life."

My simple statement brought the conversation to a standstill. All was quiet for what felt like an eternity. The woman cleared her voice.

"Wh-what do you mean? He can't be dead."

I frowned further. "I am sorry."

With that, tears watered up in her eyes. She wanted to break down and cry, but she wouldn't in front of me for whatever reason (maybe she feared that appearing weak would make me hunger for violence or something). Rather, she squeezed her eyes shut and feigned a smile at me.

"Well, th-thank you... for telling me. Ex-excuse me, I need to col-collect myself," she said, her voice cracking towards the end. She didn't wait for me to respond before running off, and I knew she was sobbing.

I looked inside the barn again. Spray-painted on one of the rotting walls was "John 3:16".

M.M

I decided to walk back to Milly instead of run. I didn't want to move so quickly in case the bullets in my body moved around. I should've probably risked it and ran, because as I walked, I took notice of that man walking beside me.

"Apologies do nothing to change the past," said the man. I looked down at him while I walked.

"Maybe not, but they do help mend the present."

"You didn't follow her. Why?"

"She wanted to be alone to cry. Who are you?"

The man looked out at the wasteland we were walking again, and I looked out to see Milly's fire a little ways off.

"Everything," he said. With that, he looked up at me again.

"It's getting late. I have to go."

I blinked. He turned and started walking off, and I went my way, feeling like I wouldn't see him again. He stopped and turned to me, though.

"Before I do, you should do yourself a favor and check out Oasis one of these days, Cord. I mean it. It truly is a place to die for."

I turned to face him; to demand his name again, but he was already walking off again.

"See you around, Cord."

I didn't stick around for more than a minute or two. It was time to get back to Milly, and she was probably getting worried about me.

Needless to say, when she saw me approaching, she ran up to meet me.

"Cord! There you are... oh, my good Lord. What happened?"

She wanted to start treating my wounds immediately, but I wanted to make it back to camp.

"I found some raiders coming too close for comfort. I didn't want to risk them attacking us tonight, so... here I am."

_"You could've called for help, numbskull."_

I didn't respond to him. Milly knew I'd be okay after she treated me. Me reappearing with bullet wounds was surprising, though. I walked with her to the fire and I lay down so she could treat the wounds.

"Honestly, it feels like I have to babysit you," she said, taking medical supplies out of her pack. I smiled.

"Maybe you should. I obviously can't be trusted alone."

_"You can't be trusted, period."_

He was being a smart ass, but that did hurt a little. I mouthed "I'm sorry" to him, but he didn't respond.

"It's okay... you do have a tendency to attract bullets," said Milly. She started working on a few of the rounds that needed to be removed (several others were better off where they were).

I've become so accustomed to Milly's gentle hand with medical treatment that I hardly notice her working on bullet wounds anymore.

In fact, I was so used to it, that I was now able to carry on long conversations while being picked and prodded. In the past, I could converse, but... it felt like hell.

"Milly?" I asked. She acknowledged me with a "hmm" while working on a bullet. She wasn't angry, just focused.

"Have you ever heard of a place called 'Oasis'?" I asked.

She actually paused while treating me and thought a moment.

"I may have heard the name," she said. "Elder Lyons has coordinates to a place by that name."

I thought for a moment. Milly eyed me while patting a wound with a cloth.

"Why?"

"Well, I heard it was a nice place. Three Dog claims to have seen living trees before, and Oasis makes me think of them."

"I've seen trees in a few films while I was in the Vault," she said.

"What are they like? Are they really covered in green things, and do they really change color?" I asked. I'd never seen a living tree before.

Milly smiled as she took another bullet out.

"They have brown bark, green leaves, and those leaves could change color and fall off. They're very pretty."

I put my head back and thought.

"To think that the world was once full of them..."

She bandaged my wounds.

"Indeed."

We were both silent for a moment and she gave me a stimpack, from which I received another headache fairly quickly. I looked over at Milly with a paw to my head and she smiled gently at me.

"How about this? One day, we'll go to Oasis. We'll see if it's nice at all, and if it is, we can have a vacation there!"

I smiled through my aching head. "Sounds good."

We spent the early evening chatting and eating (I found a mole rat). As usual, I finished my food and returned before Milly and Dogmeat were done eating. I was pretty hungry. Heh, and I used to think Mole Rat meat was bitter... I don't mind anymore.

That night, we camped and looked up at the stars. Orion still looked different to me without Betelgeuse there, even though it had been several years since the supernova. I once convinced some of the scribe geeks in the Citadel to point a radio telescope at where Betelgeuse used to be (I call it a radio telescope, but it may have been something else). What the device picked up was a sound. I can't really describe the sound so well. All I can say is it was a static sound, and it was "trilling", but almost constant. After they did some research on it, the scribes concluded that Betelgeuse left behind a rapidly rotating core with jets of material at its poles: a pulsar.

They also determined that this particular pulsar was spinning about 72 times per second, and we were actually hearing it. We couldn't see the pulsar, but when I look up at Orion, I always think of that sound. I try sometimes to imagine the pulsar spinning nearly 100 times in one second, but my brain can't comprehend something moving like that. Something is spinning 72.3 times per second. That's fast. Now think about the pulsars out there that spin over 200 times per second. It would be a hell of a ride, assuming you could land on a pulsar and not be crushed to the width of an atom.

Thinking about all that made my head hurt worse.

I remember I was the most popular living thing in the Citadel for a while. I was the most popular thing in the world, as far as the Brotherhood Scribes were concerned. Once Scribe Rothchild heard the pulsar, he looked like a kid that just learned how to curse. They named it Cord 07052280 because it was my suggestion that led to its discovery.

We were naming constellations that we each knew in the night sky. It was a lot of fun, laying side by side with Dogmeat and Milly and looking at the stars. We don't often do that.

We don't often camp out in the wasteland, either. It's dangerous, but sometimes we do it. Dogmeat and I are light sleepers (so is Milly, but not as much so as we are), so it's not necessary to take turns sleeping. Milly did as she typically did camping in the wastes: she used my chest as a pillow. I put my arm around her to keep her close, and we all fell asleep content with life. If you can find a way to be content with your life in this wasteland, you win.

Milly, Dogmeat and I were victorious.

_**Revolution! Revolution!**_

"Caesar, may I enter?"

"Yes, come forward, Marcus."

Centurion Marcus approached his leader, the self proclaimed son of Mars. He respectfully bowed his head.

"There is still no sign of Enclave activity in D.C."

"They have not returned?"

"They've tried, but so far have been unsuccessful. Losing D.C was a crushing blow."

Caesar went into thought for a moment, and then spoke.

"Much like failing to secure the Dam harmed us."

All was silent for a few brief moments.

"Send word to Lanius. He's to start carving his way further east, but is to stop short of D.C. I can't afford to spread my men too thin with the NCR still live."

"Yes, Caesar. But... what of the west?"

"We will not fail again. We will conserve ourselves this year, and we will take the Dam next year. Tell Lanius that, once he's carved our influence further east, he is to return to me and take Hoover."

"You do not fear the inescapable thinning of our numbers?"

Caesar leaned forward in his throne.

"This movement will thin our numbers, yes... but Lanius can do with ten men what Graham could not do with a hundred. We will succeed."

"Yes, Caesar."

Marcus turned to leave, but Caesar stopped him.

"Marcus, once we take Hoover Dam, you are to send your team into D.C. Remember these orders, for I will not repeat myself: Establish a camp quietly, do not draw too much attention, and finally... exterminate the profligate that destroyed the Enclave. Though she is a mere woman, she proves herself to be a liability."

Marcus bowed once more to Caesar. "By your orders, Caesar."

Marcus left Caesar's tent, unsure of what to make of Caesar's faith in Lanius. As it turned out, Caesar was right to trust him. In early 2281, he would drive the NCR out of D.C, and he would destroy the west.

So began the five shots heard around the world.

End of Chapter

* * *

**3,909 words. It's longer than I thought it would be (lulwut?).**

**Assume that the events of _New Vegas_ take place in early 2281. I'm not exactly sure when they actually take place, so maybe that's right.**

**If you go outside tonight and look for the pulsar of Betelgeuse, you're an idiot. I made that part up. Betelgeuse, as far as the world knows, isn't dead yet. We don't know if it'll be a pulsar, a neutron star, or a black hole. **

**All pulsars are neutron stars, but not all neutron stars are pulsars. Why would you get crushed to something as wide as an atom if you tried to land on a pulsar? Imagine an object with a mass greater than 1.44 solar masses, but less than 3 solar masses. Basically, imagine multiple suns. Now take this object of high mass and shrink it down to no more than 10 kilometers. Congratulations, you've got an object smaller than Earth but with more gravitational attraction than the sun (a neutron star/pulsar). You could try to land on a pulsar, but the gravity is so intense that you would be yanked to the surface and crushed to a fine paste no wider than an atom. **

**Having said that, landing on pulsars is strongly discouraged.**

**Next chapter covers a vacation in Oasis, and an attack by Caesar's Legion. I think. It might not be so long.**


	6. Denial

**Chapter 5**

**Denial**

* * *

**"You be good. See you tomorrow. I love you."**

**-Alex the African Grey Parrot's last words**

* * *

_**2281**_

In 2280, Milly promised me that we would go visit "Oasis" when we got the chance to see if it really was a nice place. Though she was one of my only friends in the world (as I've said one hundred and one times already), I found myself doubting her promise not long after she made it.

It wasn't that she couldn't keep her word. I simply felt like Oasis was too far out of the way to be worried about at all, even on a vacation. She surprised me this year. She got the coordinates off of Elder Lyons (with relative ease, because he'd been assigning us to quite a few missions in the weeks prior, and we needed down time), and we were off.

Walking to Oasis, we encountered some resistance (no more than on an average day in the wasteland). None of us got our hopes too high. We were all hoping that we would see real, living trees. Since 2277, we saw grass growing, but it rarely made it to a noticeable height. Scribes say that, given a few decades, the Capital Wasteland will become lush and green as opposed to dead and brown.

We all hoped to see real trees for the first time in our lives that weren't rotten chunks of wood, but none of us expected to actually find anything. Supposed paradises like "Oasis" were fairly normal in the wastes. Someone puts out a radio signal that advertises a place free of radiation and violence, and you go there, and it's either totally abandoned, or a trap. Either way, there's no truth to the statements.

Maybe we figured Oasis would be the best bet because it did not advertise itself. Why rig something as a trap if you're not inviting victims?

We were also worried that, even if Oasis _did_ exist, we'd end up being told what to do. This was one of the few times even Milly wanted a break. None of us wanted to do any favors. The past few weeks of wandering up and down the east coast for the Brotherhood took it out of us.

"Do you think it'll be guarded?" I asked. Milly shrugged.

"Probably, but if it is we'll just show whoever guards it that we're only interested in R&R. If they won't take us, there's plenty of other things we can do to wind down."

She smiled up at me. "How's Kastine, by the way?"

"She's Kastine. Same as usual."

"Unreadable?"

I nodded. It was not possible to tell what Kastine was feeling. Ever.

Milly giggled, and turned on the radio on her Pip-Boy. Galaxy News was just finishing a broadcast, so we caught Three Dog introducing a song before playing it.

He played a song he called "Please Don't Bury Me", by some guy named John Prine.

We didn't focus too much on the song. By the time Milly put it on, we were standing before a large plateau with green things sprouting from the top. A bridge leading to it was not far off.

Milly told me the green things were trees. Naturally, we all lit up. Milly hopped onto my back, and Dogmeat and I rushed to what appeared to be a real "Oasis".

We still kept our guard up as we closed in, though. The bridge had no mines on it, there were no bear traps anywhere around us, and there wasn't a boulder that was going to drop down from the sky and crush us. All we had to worry about were a few guards, and they showed no hostility to us.

I was very surprised. They didn't really regard me much at all until we got within earshot. I let Milly off my back and she approached one of the guards.

"Welcome, traveller. Welcome to Oasis."

Milly blinked, and looked back at me before returning her gaze to the guard.

"...Thank you for not shooting at us."

"We only harm animals that approach with hostility. Your deathclaw ran, but showed no outward signs of ill intent."

I didn't say anything in return. I was struck speechless by the beauty of this place.

Yes, it had guards at the entrance, but these "trees" were beautiful. They were so thick that I couldn't see through to the other side. The air had a pleasant scent to it that I can't quite describe, it was cool, and I could even hear running water.

The trees weren't the only plant life to thrive in Oasis. Small bushes dotted the landscape, and these poofy things of various colors called 'flowers' decorated some of these bushes (I could only see them when I got close). With my heightened sense of smell, I could pick up a pleasant scent from these flowers. It mixed in the air and danced with the smell of the trees. The grass beneath my feet tickled and squished under my weight, as opposed to the dry earth most of the wasteland was stuck with.

Milly continued conversing with the guards, but all I really caught was the beginning. They let us into Oasis after they spoke for a few moments, and Milly stuck close to me. She smiled, happy that Dogmeat and I were so happy (Dogmeat was fighting tears, and I was too thirsty to have tears, or they probably would've been an issue), but I knew she was as thrilled as we were.

The trees towering overhead made for great shade from the sun, and there was a clear pond coming from underground. This place had just about everything. It even had game.

We met more of those that lived here (I referred to them as Tree-Huggers, and they took it as a term of endearment, which it was). They told us that the reason plant life was trying to sprout up in the rest of the wasteland was because of their God, which turned out to be a talking tree.

That was, luckily, the extent of the weirdness in Oasis. There was a talking tree named Harold, if I understood him right.

It was Harold that told us about the real reason behind plant life trying to return. He told us it was because some wastelander that stumbled upon Oasis a few years earlier mended his heart with some kind of sap. All I understood was "heart", and though I knew next to nothing about trees, I knew they didn't have hearts.

Then again, I didn't take very good notes when I was in Biology in Megaton.

He said that, had this man (Cookie something) done what _he_ wanted, and destroyed his heart, Oasis would eventually succumb to the wasteland. However, Cookie decided to do what the Tree-Huggers wanted (half of them, anyway), and apply growth sap (I think some kind of paste) to Harold's "heart".

It sped up the plant growth, and in a few decades, trees would overtake the Capital Wasteland, just as the scribes predicted.

Cookie took care of really the only thing this place needed done, so we were in the clear for rest. Some of the Tree-Huggers heard of Milly and her talking deathclaw well, so they vouched for us. They convinced everybody else to let us stay for a week and enjoy a vacation. During that week, we spent most of our time having fun (Milly would do a few things for the Tree-Huggers, who for the most part needed next to nothing). We'd rest beneath trees, look at the plant life, swim, and just admire the beauty of old Mother Nature.

In your darkest hours in the wasteland, when you want to give up most, just thinking of a place like Oasis could fill your heart with joy. The idea of this beauty overtaking the land eventually was fantastic. The people of Oasis didn't want to conquer anybody. They did not want violence. After Cookie did what he did, they all grew to enjoy the idea that the dead Capital Wasteland would see life again.

There was no reason to fear these people. If Oasis covered the land, you wouldn't be forced to worship Harold (he didn't like being worshipped, anyway). You wouldn't pay tribute, you wouldn't have to give up your homes, you wouldn't be asked to leave... all that would change would be the scenery of D.C.

Thinking of the future was one of the reasons we all loved Oasis. None of us wanted that week to end.

Time, however, goes on. Our time in Oasis came to an end a week later. We left the Tree-Huggers on good terms, and they told us to return anytime. Milly told me we'd go back again one day, and I loved the thought.

We were all in a very good mood for our return trip to Megaton (where we were going to spend most of our time off when we weren't wandering).

About half an hour into our trip, five men approached, each heavily armed. They were Legionaries, and just the sight of them put a damper on my good mood. Four Legionaries had submachine guns and assault rifles (by now my eyes were too poor to really tell what type these guns were), and the fifth carried a sniper rifle. The leader carried a backpack, and in one hand he held a photo.

"Excuse me, Miss?" he called (Milly didn't acknowledge them before that). She turned to face them, as did Dogmeat and I. He held up the photograph and his eyes darted between it and Milly's face. He dropped the picture. One Legionary started backing up, putting distance between himself and us. Milly stared at the lead.

"This isn't personal," said the leader as he held up his weapon. He fired just seconds after Milly dove behind the skeleton of an old burned out truck. I took one Legionary next to him out not a second after he fired at Milly, and then I dove behind cover with her.

Now, Dogmeat, Milly and I were all behind this burned out truck being fired upon.

"What's going on?!" shrieked Milly as she gripped her Steyr AUG. I shook my head.

"I have no idea."

_"If we sit here, we're all dead. Let's worry about what's happening later!"_

I nodded at Dogmeat. "Milly, we'll shoot first, and ask questions-"

I was interrupted by what sounded like an explosion, and a round tore through the truck just to my side. That bullet ran right through the engine block like it was nothing. It startled us all.

Milly started firing blindly for cover, and it did stop the assault for a moment. I put my paw on her.

"I'm going to take out that sniper. Can you guys worry about the other three?"

Milly nodded. "Got it!"

I nodded too, and pulled myself over the wrecked truck. My eyes scanned for the sniper, and I saw him about two hundred feet off.

I started running towards him, and my eyes widened as I thought about that first shot.

He was using a Barrett M82 sniper rifle. It fired .50 caliber rounds, the very rounds that could tear a deathclaw to pieces as if it were nothing.

I didn't stop running...

_**BANG!**_

_**Revolution! Revolution!**_

Cord wasn't over the big rusty metal wall we put between us and the funny looking men for more than five seconds before we heard a second small explosion. Milly insisted that I stay behind cover with her, and I managed to peer through part of the wreckage we took cover behind at Cord.

The first round exploded through his left arm and essentially crippled it. It stopped his charge and actually caused him to stumble backward a few steps, his good paw clutching his crippled arm. He glanced at the injury, but...

...he kept running.

_**BANG!**_

This time, it tore through his lower waist on the left.

Like the first bullet, this one exploded out of his back and continued flying through the air over what we took cover behind. Milly was being fired at by the other funny looking men, but she wasn't injured.

After she took one out, she glanced at Cord and saw his injuries. He stood up after a moment from the second bullet and tried again to charge.

_**BANG!**_

The bullet tore through his back from the inner right shoulder. The wound didn't cripple his other arm, but he was bleeding worse than I'd ever seen him bleed before.

"Cord!" shrieked Milly. She tried to fire at the sniper, but was quickly forced behind cover again by the two funny looking men she had left to kill. She had her chance a few moments after taking cover again and took down one more, leaving just one of hers left before she could assist Cord.

I wasn't able to move, but once more, Cord tried to attack the sniper again. Though he was injured badly, he'd made decent progress towards the sniper. Just about fifty feet more, and he'd have him...

_**BANG!**_

The fourth shot tore through his chest and like all before it, exited through his back. He didn't recoil much that time, but he wasn't moving as quickly. He continued running forward, determined to close the distance. Milly managed to kill her final legionary...

_**BANG!**_

The fifth bullet caught him in his chest, too, and this time, Cord fell backwards to the ground. The sniper drew closer, to see if the deathclaw was trying to trick him. Cord squirmed slowly on the ground, bringing his wounded arm closer to his body. He took a shaky breath in, and coughed, dark red blood spurting out of his maw.

He collapsed no more than ten feet from his target.

It wasn't Milly that took the bastard sniper out. She wounded him before he could take note of her, but it was my teeth in his throat that drained his life from his neck.

I hadn't realized that my feet were taking me to end his life after his fourth shot.

_**Revolutions do not last.**_

Agony... my wounds burned, yet I was so cold. They... hurt, but... I w-was numb.

"Cord!"

Footsteps... Milly?

Her gentle hands pressed down on one of my wounds... and D-Dogmeat was on my other side.

Though my eyes... are poor... I could see th-the shock wash... over her face as she tried to stop my bl-bleeding.

Blood tastes bad. My blood... tastes bad.

She... tried to smile comfort...ingly at me.

"You're going to be alright, Cord..." she said softly, her eyes watering up. She grabbed her w-walkie talkie...

"This is Milly to Citadel! I need emergency evac for a critical injury! Can you get a fix on my location?!"

"Mil, this is Sarah. I have your location. Who is injured?"

"Cord! He needs help, now!"

T...tried to speak. Blood.

It tastes bad.

I... could hear footsteps again... Milly was my concern.

"Muh...m..." I croaked out, my words c-covered... blood.

"Shh... it's going to be alright!" she cried. She jabbed me with a st...st...stimpack, but I f-felt nothing. Not even the headache.

"Hurts..." I managed... croak out.

I saw that man... standing over Milly, eyeing me.

...s-said nothing to him.

"No! No, no, no! Hang on, Cord! Let the stimpack help a bit!"

...she couldn't stop my bleeding. I felt som...something on my other side.

Dogmeat... tears rolled from his eyes...

...plopped his head down beside mine.

_"Don't go... Hang on. Hang on, Cord... you'll be okay. You hear me? You'll be alright, buddy..."_

Milly... she tried hard...

...sleepy.

"No! Cord! Stay with me! Jesus... where's our evac?!" she screamed into... walkie talkie. She tossed it away and put her... hand on my face, tears leaking down hers. I looked at Dogmeat...

_"I accept your apology!"_ he s...shouted through tears.

"Cord..."

Strange man's voice... He knelt beside Milly.

"It's time to go."

Put his hand... on my chest.

My luck ran out.

End of Chapter

* * *

**2,678 words.**

**Cord was no longer of use. The only way I could use him anymore was to kill him. Had he survived the attack, Milly wouldn't have her anger towards the Legion, and Manifest Destiny would fall apart.**

**Want to know who the Strange Man is? I have no idea. He's a mirror image to the character from _Red Dead Redemption_. He's designed to be anybody's guess, though I would narrow it down to either God, the Devil, or a personification of Death. All I can reasonably tell you is that the Strange Man appears in 3 of my stories, and whenever he appears to one of my characters, that means that the character in question is not making it out of the story alive.**

**Next chapter covers Milly and Dogmeat reacting to the death, finding sensitive information on one of the dead legionaries, and using that info to attack a nearby Legion Camp. **


	7. Anger

**Chapter 6**

**Anger**

* * *

**"Incoming artillery has the right of way."**

**-Infantry Journal**

* * *

Cord's was one of the most interesting mutations in history. He was the only known human to mutate into a deathclaw. He became an animal.

This transformation spawned of lucky breaks. He told me that he was wearing deathclaw gauntlets upon his mutation. He fainted in Deathclaw Sanctuary.

Where most would die of radiation poisoning or become a ghoul, Cord's DNA merged with that of his gauntlets. His was a mutation that could only occur to one person out of every several billion. He was extremely lucky.

It was that day in 2281 that Cord, the one person I knew that cheated death several times over, passed away.

Dogmeat and I stayed put for who knows how long. I sobbed into Cord's chest, hoping... hoping that at any moment, his paw would come up and hold me.

For a while, I thought he wasn't dead. I thought it was a nightmare, or I thought he'd passed out and would come to again...

He simply started to grow cool.

Though he was gone... I kept trying to treat his injuries. He'd been shot to death by a Barrett M82.

"N-no! Cord, please! Wake up! Wake up!" I shouted between sobs. He was not responsive. His eyes... they were empty; glazed over.

One of the only people in this world I considered family was dead. Dogmeat howled, trying to call him back to us... I continued crying for my fallen friend.

I stood up after a while, and I walked to the sniper that killed him. I wanted to shoot him again, because Dogmeat ripped his throat out and I wanted to show him as much respect for his body as he showed Cord... but I stopped before I pulled the trigger again.

In the man's pocket... a packet of papers was folded up. I took it out and looked at it.

I was reading intel I found in the field, when I should've given it straight to superiors. I didn't read all the intel there at that moment, but I saw names and locations, a hit list... the works. This wouldn't be going to the Brotherhood. Though I didn't read it all right away, I had a gut feeling that this intel would come in handy. If I told the Brotherhood about that intel, though... I'd have to hand it over.

So when they got Dogmeat and I back to the Citadel to report what happened, I told them that those men attacked me. I made no mention of the papers I took, though I did tell them that a Legionary named Marcus once approached me (during my attack on the Enclave), and I figured he was involved (I was right). They added a few names to the Brotherhood of Steel's Top 10 Most Wanted, and I was dismissed.

The hardest thing I ever had to do in 2281 was type up the letter to Cord's parents (over the years, we decided to tell them that Cord was wanted by somebody and had to leave D.C. It was easier than telling them that their son became a deathclaw and started wandering with me, but they deserved the truth now), telling them about his mutation, his life with me, and his death at the hands of the Legion.

I had to stop on several occasions, because I'd look over the letter, and I'd start to cry. I had to send it by courier, because the Brotherhood had me monitored for the first two days and I couldn't make the trip.

Three Dog went ballistic when he delivered the news. He really raised the alarm about the Legion in the area, and he repeatedly told me to come see him when I was up to it. Three Dog's a good guy. The day after Cord...

...he spent the next day's radio breaks playing Cord's favorite songs. I only listened to a few, because it hurt too much to remember.

His deathclaw friend visited us, wondering where he was. She remembered us, so Dogmeat and I were unharmed. When she approached, I knew she wanted to know where he was...

I had to tell her that he was killed, and I was afraid that she was going to attack us, or rampage in the Citadel, or maybe she'd break down and cry in front of us... but she didn't do any of those things.

No, instead she froze for a few moments, and then turned and ran off. Neither of us ever saw Kastine again.

* * *

Dogmeat and I... we both cried on and off throughout the night. Nothing could have seperated us. I held him close, and in his own way, he did the same for me. Dogmeat teased Cord a lot, but I knew it hurt him. He loved Cord, in his own way. We both loved him, even after he tried to betray me (he'd apologize over and over until the day he... you know). I forgave him, but I wasn't sure about Dogmeat.

Dogmeat tried hard to stop crying and be strong for me, but it's just difficult to do when you lose one of your own. Sleeping was difficult on that first night.

I would wake up with a jolt, thinking that all that happened was a nightmare, and that I'd find Cord not far away sleeping... but every time I woke up, he was absent.

On the third day, Sarah Lyons led Dogmeat and I to the new Most Wanted poster. She gestured to it with a smile.

"What do you think, Mil?"

_Top 10 Most Wanted:  
1- Caesar of New Vegas, for terrorist attacks against Brotherhood Chapters nationwide, for crimes against humanity, and for public urination._

_2- Nikolai Rascalov, for terrorist attacks against Brotherhood activities, including the murders of several Brotherhood Paladins._

_3- Anson Fullerton (DECEASED), for terrorist attacks against Brotherhood activities in Miami's chapter, including the murders of Brotherhood field operatives and innocent civilians alike._

_4- Dimitri Petrov, for suspicion of aiding and abetting known hostiles in D.C area._

_5- Sergei Yoblonovich, for arms dealing and smuggling operations._

_6- "Marcus", for conspiracy to murder several Brotherhood field operatives._

_7- Roland Roger (DECEASED), for the murder of a Brotherhood field operative._

_8- Larry Sizemore, for the attempted poisoning of New Vegas' high elder._

_9- Allistair Tenpenny, for crimes against humanity, and conspiracy to use nuclear weapons._

_10- Holden "Judge" Lee, for aiding and abetting known hostiles against the Brotherhood. _

I stared at the poster for a few moments before looking back at Sarah.

"This is supposed to make me feel better?" I asked.

She frowned. "It's supposed to help you rest easy. The son of a bitch that ordered that attack made number one immediately. Could you ask for more?"

"I want Cord back."

She was silent, and I turned away. She put her hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Milly. I really am. I know he meant a lot to you. He meant a lot to us all... but you can't let this attack get in your way..."

"What do you mean?" I asked, not really interested. I could feel Sarah smile.

"The Brotherhood found a Legion camp in D.C. We're attacking it tonight, and you are invited."

Well, that got my attention. I turned to Sarah.

"Are you in?" she asked. I nodded.

"Definitely. Count me in."

Dogmeat responded with a bark, which I took to mean "I'm in".

"Be in front of the Citadel at 22:30."

We turned to leave, but Sarah caught my shoulder.

"Oh, wait! Listen, Mil... I know you feel very strongly about this... but keep it on the down low. This mission isn't exactly "Elder-Approved", you understand?"

I didn't really respond. I just turned and left. My leave was all the assurance Sarah needed.

Dogmeat and I spent that entire day preparing. I repaired my weapons, and I cleaned them over and over again... I think 50 times. I wasn't being paranoid, I just didn't know what else to do for a while. I was in my room (the room I stayed in the night my Dad died, because the guy that owned it was killed several years ago), and I was just lying on my bed messing around with my weapons.

Dogmeat was laying just before my bed. Neither of us sobbed anymore. We were both infuriated. Whenever I shut my eyes to think, I'd picture Cord's murderer, and every time I pictured him, I felt sick.

That squad said it wasn't personal, but killing Cord made it personal. While I put my Steyr AUG back together, I glanced at my desk where I left the papers I lifted off that legionary.

I still had a few hours to kill before meeting everybody in front of the Citadel for the attack. I locked my door, and I sat down at my desk to read the intel I gathered.

I hit the jackpot! The intelligence I found not only contained the hit ordered on my head with Caesar's approval (thus damning him), but it also made me aware of Legionary camps throughout the United Wastes of America (Cord's name for the USA).

Judging by their camp locations, I figured out what they wanted:

Manifest Destiny.

They wanted to see the west coast and at the same time see the east coast. They wanted D.C specifically, probably because it was the old capital of the U.S.A before the war, and putting it under their banner would be a strong signal for the other wastelands to fall into line.

After they assisted me in defeating the Enclave in 2277, I did a little research on them, and when I did, they only had territory as far as the Mississippi river.

They were expanding. Every one of their newly conqured territories (as well as the old) were commanded through a small camp controlled by a "Legionary Centurion". To kill the Centurion would disorganize the troops, and essentially free the territory in question... at least until Caesar sent a knew Centurion.

They had camps in D.C, Cleaveland, Chicago, Kansas City, Denver, Salt Lake City, Nashville, Dallas, Santa Fe, Flagstaff, New Vegas, and they had influence all along the west coast. The camp in D.C was still getting its affairs in order. I didn't have a photo of the camp's leader, but because of my past research on them, I knew how to tell which Legionary was most powerful by the armor he wore.

I also learned that they succeeded in taking Hoover Dam from the NCR (the New California Republic. The Brotherhood doesn't exactly see eye to eye with them... or didn't). They didn't stop, though. Morale can decide one battle, and at the same time decide them all. If you lose one battle because your morale is low, you may be more likely to lose another, and then your morale depletes further, and you lose _another..._ it's a cycle.

It doesn't happen to everybody, but in the NCR's case, it did. They lost Hoover, and it hurt them. They got pushed out of Nevada. Then, the Legion hit them again, and they lost more influence... and they got hit again, and they lost more influence... and again... and again... and again... until the NCR did not exist.

I got ahold of the Legion's 10 Most Wanted, which was more like the 5 Most Wanted, because most of their targets were dead. I was at the top of their Most Wanted list, followed by someone named "Craig Boone", then "The King" (I swear to God, I'm not making that name up), a man on our Most Wanted list named "Larry Sizemore", and finally a girl named "Veronica".

I decided to keep that Most Wanted list as a reference for when I found my way into Caesar's vicinity. I'd like backup ready as I prepared to make him eat a bullet.

I read the intel I gathered over and over again. I gathered names of highly ranked Legionaries (those that Caesar respected enough to remember by name).

I made a point to show them that they chose the wrong side.

When the time came for our attack, we didn't skip to the door and we didn't say anything badass before we left like in a stupid action movie. I put the intel in a slip in a lockbox I carried in my backpack, put on my armor, grabbed my weapons, and Dogmeat and I were out the door. That was it.

When we met Sarah outside the Citadel, she ran up to me.

"Hey, glad you can make it..."

"Sarah! Don't you walk away when I'm talking to you!"

...

"So, yeah... you can go ahead and board the Vertibird..."

"Sarah!"

"So... Elder Lyons found out, huh?" I asked. She scowled in the direction of a Brotherhood Paladin.

"Some people can't keep quiet... alright, already Dad!"

She turned to face him, but then returned to me.

"Go. You guys get on the Vertibird and conduct the attack. I'll try to convince my Father that this is the right thing to do..."

We were both going to end up in hot water for doing this, but I'm not going to stand by and let the Legion hang its banner over the Capital Wasteland.

The Vertibird took off, and the trip was mostly quiet. Dogmeat lay next to me in the seats, and we both stared at the aisle that Cord would have so much trouble fitting into (he hated Vertibirds). The sadness I felt was quickly replaced by fury.

I'd soon be at that camp, but that wasn't enough. I wanted to go to Caesar's little play fort and kill him now... but I couldn't, because we didn't have enough fuel. We could've fueled up more before we left, but... we'd still have to land in a Brotherhood chapter in another state, ask for fuel, and that requires the mission to be legal...

Fuel was the main reason behind the Great War, anyway. We didn't blow ourselves up because we had more fuel than we knew what to do with... we blew ourselves up because the world feared having no fuel left... and so it turned itself into something that could not use fuel (for the most part).

The Great War was really a brief ironic explosion.

I didn't have nuclear weapons to use on the Legion, though. Even if I did, there's a rumor that the paranoid shut-in that lived in New Vegas (someone killed him) was the reason New Vegas even existed; he allegedly managed to protect the Strip from the nuclear attacks. Even if I had a nuclear bomb, whose to say his defenses weren't still active? What if they stopped the device?

I was jolted out of my thoughts by the pilot.

We were about halfway to the camp.

And then there was an explosion. Alarms started blaring, red lights started flashing, and the Vertibird started into a death spiral.

"Damn!" shouted the pilot. He tried to regain control of the craft, but we were dropping out of the sky. Through the window, the skeletons of buildings spun around us.

"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday! Viking 2-1 to Citadel... Agh! We're going down hard!"

I don't remember actually hitting. I was knocked unconscious, though I managed to catch Dogmeat yelp as he was thrown around the cabin.

My head throbbed, and I was out for an unknown amount of time. I was unconscious for hours, and I was unconscious for seconds. When I opened my eyes, I saw Dogmeat (my vision was blurry) not far away from me, bloodied. His rear left leg was hanging onto his body by a thread, and bone was protruding through his skin in various places. He was whining and whimpering, trying to move but unable to. His blood was pooling around him.

I wanted badly to crawl over to him (I wasn't sure how injured I was yet), and hold him... because he was all I had left and I was losing him now, too...

...but my eyes shut again. Once more, I was unsure of how long my eyes were closed. I remember being pulled out of the flaming wreckage. When I opened my eyes again, I was looking up at my rescuer.

"...Cord?" I mumbled. Cord looked down at me, and I blinked.

Suddenly, I'm standing, and I can see clear as day. Three Brotherhood Paladins were tending to the wreckage, and before me was my own body. None of my bones looked broken... but the Paladins that were aiding me were taking no precautions (we landed very close to Galaxy News Radio). I looked over at Dogmeat's body and saw him being tended to, as well. He was still alive at that point.

"He's all in, the poor fellow," said a new voice. I looked to my side and saw a man in a suit and top hat with a mustache. I felt like I knew him forever.

"Is he going to... die?" I asked. The man paused for a moment.

"I can't tell you that."

"Do you know?"

He shrugged. "I know, but I don't know."

"Who are you?" I asked. The man chuckled a bit.

"You know, Cord asked me the same exact thing."

I was silent for a moment.

"Did he now?"

"He did. Several times, as a matter of fact. I don't blame anybody for not knowing me, though. Mine is not the name many focus on lately. People, as a general rule, try to avoid me."

I paused again. I wanted to ask more about Cord, but I wasn't able to. I couldn't find my voice in that sense.

"Are you with the Legion?" I asked. He shook his head.

"I don't concern myself with petty squabbles. I only concern myself with petty people."

Before I could respond, he continued.

"You're very lucky. You escaped with cuts, bruises, and a mild concussion. You'll be walking again."

I looked back at the wreckage, and then at the man.

"I was sure that would've killed me."

The man shook his head. "If it isn't your time, it isn't your time. Incidentally, this isn't what does you in."

"What does?" I asked. He shook his head again.

"I can't tell you that. All I can say is... the luck Cord had seems to smile on you, as well."

He turned to face me, and I felt... light headed. The feeling only got worse and worse.

"I'll tell Cord you said hello."

I was blinded by a bright light, and then I lost my sense of everything again.

I had blacked out. Even now I don't recall what, if anything, I dreamt about.

* * *

I only regain my memory when I actually woke up. I was in a bedroom in Galaxy News. I was _starving._

"101... can you hear me?" asked a voice I was very familiar with. I nodded weakly, and regretted it. My head throbbed.

"You are very lucky. If you'd crashed anywhere else, you'd probably be dead."

I sat up a little, and propped myself up by my arms.

"What happened?" I mumbled.

"One of the rotors in your Vertibird blew. You crashed about 300 yards away from my building. You were lucky the Brotherhood got to you before the big uglies did."

We were both silent for a moment. Three Dog shifted in his seat.

"I'm sorry about Cord, Mil."

I looked at him, and suddenly felt overwhelmed by worry.

"Dogmeat! Is he... is he alright?"

Three Dog took a deep breath in and I suspected the worst. I nearly broke down right there, but he beat me.

"He's alive and stable... that's the good news."

My relief nearly brought me to fainting. The "attack" was a complete failure, but... at least Dogmeat was alive.

"Your pilot didn't make it, though. He was killed on impact."

I felt horrible as soon as he said that. I didn't know our pilot well, but he was doing the mission because Sarah asked him to, and she was asking him to because I was so upset about Cord, so it was technically my fault.

"Does Elder Lyons know?"

"Does he? He's furious. Sarah was suspended for the attack. As for you... he hasn't quite made sense of what happened yet. You're supposed to meet with him when you're able to."

I sighed.

"I'll take full responsibility for the attack. Sarah was just trying to make me feel better. She doesn't deserve the punishment."

It dawned on me around then that when I asked about Dogmeat, Three Dog said that the "good news" was that Dogmeat survived. I looked at him.

"Wait... Dogmeat survived the crash, and that's the good news... what's the bad news?"

"Well, for one thing... the pilot... and for another... he's not going to be the same. Uhh... ever."

I stared, feeling hollow. I feared that he was totally crippled... but even after my time with the Brotherhood, it still could do things that amazed me.

"Dogmeat lost three of his legs, had puncture wounds to one of his lungs, suffered extreme blood loss, was essentially disemboweled, and a broken rib just missed piercing his heart by inches. Debris from the crash ravaged one of his eyes and blinded it, and a broken rotor wing was found lodged half an inch from his head. His heart stopped for four minutes."

I was numb, and Three Dog continued.

"His legs were impossible to save, and many of his organs were too far gone to recover. Much of his body was impossible to save."

"So, he's been crippled?"

Three Dog shook his head.

"He's alive and he can walk. He's just... uhh... shinier now."

I kept staring. Three Dog continued.

"Mil, they made him a cyberdog. It was the only way to keep him alive."

I almost fainted. A cyberdog... that's a biological dog with robot parts; essentially a cyborg. Up until that point, I'd heard of Cyberdogs... but I thought that the technology required to make a cyberdog died out along with the Old World. However, the Brotherhood collects high technology. It shouldn't have surprised me to hear that they had the ability to do that.

"A... cyberdog?" I finally asked. Three Dog nodded.

"He's still Dogmeat. He's still got his old brain, most of his old head, and he managed to keep about 35% of his old body... but the rest of him was replaced."

I was silent and looked at the ground.

"Mil, he was getting old as it was. Look at it this way: as a cyberdog, he won't be dying of old age for a long, long time."

I looked back at Three Dog.

"A cyberdog... That's okay."

He was surprised at my reaction.

"You're not upset...?"

I shook my head. "He's a cyberdog now. So what? At least he's alive. That's all that matters."

He chuckled a little. "101... you never cease to amaze me."

"How is he... reacting?"

"He seems really nervous. Every time one of his new legs makes a noise, he jolts. Most of all, he wants to see you."

Three Dog was done with that sentence for about a second, and then the door to the room I was in launched open, and Dogmeat ran in.

When he was in the shadows, I couldn't tell what was different about him other than the sound he now made as he walked; the sound of metal clacking on tile. Take that away, and his silhouette looked more or less the same as he did before we crashed.

He must've sensed his cloak, because he stopped just before running into the light. It was as if he was ashamed of what happened.

"Dogmeat, come here..." I said. I got off the bed and knelt down. He hesitated for a moment, and then stepped into the light.

Dogmeat's face was mostly the same, but his brain was floating in a dome full of gel. The eye that Three Dog said was blinded was missing and replaced by a red optic sensor; essentially a red iris and black pupil in the center. His chest was the same until the front right leg. From his front left leg to his rear left leg, no part of his original form remained. No, that part of his body was shiny metal. His paws were essentially controlled by hydraulics, as were a majority of his movements. Down his other side, only his front right leg remained. It, and some of his shoulder and ribs remained untouched (I saw a few bandages on them), but the top of his rear end was completely replaced (his private area survived, along with a thin strip of fur along his belly that merged into his chest). His tail was gone, too; replaced by a long robotic substitute. Towards his neck, his spine had a reflective black glass on it. It was a sensor, but I wasn't sure then what it was for.

He barked as I examined him, and I smiled. His bark was exactly the same. I wrapped my arms around his cold, metallic neck, and I felt him bring himself closer to me.

"I'm so glad you're okay," I said, squeezing him tighter. I was squeezing him so tight, I was afraid I'd dent the metallic parts. In a way, it's good he was a cyberdog. I might have crushed him otherwise.

"_...arooo?"_

Dogmeat was very smart for as long as I knew him. He was smarter than some people, but some people are very stupid. No, saying he's smarter than some people does nothing to compliment his intelligence.

Saying that he didn't really need to be told twice about anything is about right, though. He could comprehend what I said to him, and he was able to speak to Cord.

So, knowing Dogmeat, he was wondering what I was thinking about his makeover. I didn't care. He was still Dogmeat.

I held him for a while before a Paladin walked in the room. Three Dog and the Brotherhood members gave us a few moments (I seperate Three Dog from the Brotherhood because he's technically not a member).

"I'm glad to see you're up and about again, Milly. It's been four days."

Well, that explained Dogmeat's ability to move around so easily... and also why I was so hungry.

"You're probably wondering about Dogmeat, huh?"

I nodded slowly. "What are the advantages to his... condition?"

"He's stronger and faster now. Additionally, the technological enhancements to his body put his life expectancy at about 200 years, give or take 10. Also, there's one more thing that Dogmeat can do now..."

I stared. "What is it?"

"Do you see the sensor just before his neck?"

I did. The Paladin held up some thick, heavy looking goggles.

"For scouting purposes, you can see the world through his eyes. These goggles have a range of about three miles. They constantly send a signal to and from that sensor. They can detect your brain waves and transmit them to Dogmeat, giving you control over his body if you need to scout an area without attracting so much attention."

I looked down at Dogmeat, and he blinked at the goggles (his original eye blinked normally; his new eye had a new eyelid, or else it might hurt to blink).

"How did you guys get all this done while I was out?"

"We had some basic mechanics around we could use to stabilize him. Once we were sure he wasn't going to die yet, we had the rest of our parts flown in from the Citadel. You're lucky we had the bare minimum here."

I was silent.

"You've got a hell of a fighter there, 101. As soon as he woke up, he wanted to see you," said the same Paladin.

"Are there any disadvantages I should know about? Is water an issue?"

"He's fine drinking it and swimming in it. As for disadvantages, the body work was not cheap, and we wouldn't have done it at all if it wasn't... for you. If he gets a scratch on him, be prepared to have it on him forever."

I relaxed with a smile and patted Dogmeat on the... brain case. This might take some getting used to.

"I don't know what I would do if I lost him, too..."

The Paladin nodded. "I'm sorry about that, by the way."

"What's the investigation into Cord's murder looking like?"

The Paladin didn't answer me at first. I eyed him.

"Well?"

"Caesar is on our list of Most Wanted... but we can't send our guys across the country to kill that man when he's got a Legionary camp in the area. Even in that... Lyons wants to try to negotiate with them."

"Negotiate!" I screamed. "I'll negotiate a bullet in the back of his head... No, the Legion-"

"101, it isn't your call..."

"The hell it isn't. One of my best friends was killed by those bastards."

"Lyons wants to see you when you're able to meet with him, by the way..."

"Oh, believe me. I want to see him, too," I grumbled. I looked out a window at the night sky, and the Paladin looked with me. I was shaking with rage, and Dogmeat looked infuriated, too.

"It's too late for us to leave now. We'll head out in the morning. If you didn't understand, I meant he wants to seek peace with the camp in D.C. Caesar is a target still," said the Paladin.

"Yeah, that makes it much better," I grumbled. I turned my back on him and walked back in the room with Three Dog.

Three Dog followed me into the room. I sat down on the bed and took my backpack from under the mattress.

"If it makes you feel any better, Lyons is worried about you."

"Yeah, terrific."

Three Dog was silent while I fumbled with my backpack.

"Did they search this?" I asked. He shook his head.

"No, should they have?"

I shrugged. I found the lockbox and looked up at Three Dog.

"Can I trust you?" I asked. It was like he knew what I wanted, because he reminded me of his status with the Brotherhood.

"I let the Brotherhood hang around here, and I house you, but I'm not actually _with_ the Brotherhood. I don't owe allegiance to them... if that's what you're wondering."

I opened the lockbox after glancing at the door. Yes, Three Dog was someone I could trust.

End of Chapter

* * *

**5,076 words.**

**Keep reading. This story gets f**king _weird._**

**Apparently I'd written a bit of this a few nights ago, and most of it looked like I put a blindfold on and started pushing keyboard buttons (you know, like how the _Twilight_ saga was written). Most of what I wrote was completely meaningless, but I did manage to get some of the stuff I wanted to cover while I was still able to somewhat think straight. So, I had to re-edit this chapter once I sobered up, and it's still fairly strange.**

**I said that when someone sees the Strange Man, they aren't going to live, but Milly didn't _actually _see him. She hallucinated him, and since a hallucination is a false sensory experience, it technically didn't actually happen. Therefore, he didn't actually appear to her, so she's not doomed. Granted, she may die somewhere in the story (every character seen in any of my stories has the chance of death), but it's not guarenteed.**

**Next chapter covers Milly showing Three Dog the intel she gathered, we learn a little more about the Vertibird crash, and we meet several new characters that Milly probably shouldn't speak to.**


	8. Bargaining

**Chapter 7**

**Bargaining**

* * *

**"My most brilliant achievement was my ability to be able to persuade my wife to marry me."**

**-Winston Churchill**

* * *

I held the intel out to Three Dog. He stared.

"When Cord died, I found this on one of the Legionaries that attacked us... it's intel on their movements, camps, and territories."

Three Dog sat on the bed next to me and looked at the intel. I offered it to him, but he didn't take it.

"You're planning on stirring the hornet's nest, Mil. This isn't the Enclave. These guys... they're plain scary. I don't know what you think you can do, but that intel isn't going to make you bulletproof."

I stared at him.

"I know a guy that can hook you up, but... I think you already know about him."

"Who is he?"

"Mil, before I tell you about him, you have to understand that even talking to him will reap consequences."

"Who is he?"

"...and I'm not just dead sure he won't try to kill you once he sees you. He's not a fan of the Brotherhood."

"Three Dog..."

"He's good with guns, Mil. He's real good..."

"Three Dog."

He finally stopped and listened to me.

"Who. Is. He?"

Three Dog took a breath.

"He's a Russian immigrant. Ex-Spetsnaz sniper. Nikolai Rascalov. Maybe... you've heard of him?"

Nikolai Rascalov, as far as I was concerned at the time, was a name on our Most Wanted list. Nothing more. He was second on our list. He's a known terrorist regarding the Brotherhood of Steel. Rascalov was responsible for attacks on the Enclave and the Brotherhood alike. Lyons would pay big money to get his head on a platter, but he knows how to vanish.

"I've heard the name," I said.

"I only mention him to you because I know you're angry enough not to tell the Brotherhood that I know where to find him."

"Slow down, Three Dog. What does that guy have to do with my plans for the Legion?"

"Weren't you listening? He's former Spetsnaz; Russian special forces. He's a drunk, but he'll be able to direct you, and he might even assist you."

"Why would he assist a Brotherhood member?"

Three Dog stood, and walked over to a counter where a coffee maker was sitting. He started pouring two cups of coffee (I declined mine).

"Nikolai is, by all accounts, a crazy, obsessive son of a bitch. He's crazy in the sense that he's as likely to shoot you as he is to shake your hand, and he's obsessive in the sense that he can't stand watching someone walk into a battlefield with a half baked plan if he knows the answer."

"My plan is not half baked."

"I don't think it is, but if you want him to help you at all, you should make it seem that way... considering you'll risk being around him."

I stared at Three Dog.

"I'll find another way. Where can I find him?"

Three Dog started stirring his cup of coffee.

"Head to a bar in Andale called "Comrade's". Nikolai will be the only one in there drinking all the Vodka."

I smiled.

"Take the back out of here and avoid the Brotherhood. Oh, and uhh... be careful around that cat. Let's just say... 'crazy' is an understatement."

0_0

That's why I was absent from Galaxy News Radio when morning came. I was on my way to Andale. I turned off my radio so I didn't have to hear the Brotherhood calling out to me.

They weren't sounding so angry. It sounded more like they were worried about me.

"It's sort of like that time in the Vault with Amata, Dogmeat."

Dogmeat looked up at me while we walked. I wanted to get his mind off recent events. He needed some time off.

"When we were 13, we snuck out past curfew one night. I don't know what we thought we would accomplish, but... I remember we wandered into places that were off limits, and Vault Security was sent to find us. Our parents were worried sick."

I smiled down at him.

"Once we were found, I got grounded for a week in front of the Overseer by Dad, but once the Overseer was gone, it was shortened to a day. He said I reminded him of himself when he was my age."

The way Dogmeat was looking at me, I knew he was listening well. That's one of the many things I can always count on Dogmeat to do. He always listens if I need to say something.

We kept walking, both wishing that Cord was with us. He'd only been to Andale once, and that was when we went there to wind down shortly after the Enclave, found out that the town was inhabited by a bunch of cannibals, killed the cannibals, and over the years, Andale went from a terrifying place that you avoided like the plague to a decent town with a really bad past.

The Brotherhood of Steel tries to avoid Andale, even now. It's rumored to be one of the first places that the bombs hit during the Great War (that's not likely, but nobody that was in Andale at the time of the Great War is alive to talk about it, and the dead are very slow to answer questions), it was hit hard by raiders over about 50 years after the Great War and so any settlement was destroyed, it became a Slaver's Den for a while, and finally it became a creepy place inhabited by man-eating men. That being said, it's considered cursed by quite a few people. It's got a population again (for how long?), but... that population would be a lot larger if Andale wasn't constantly getting crapped on by the Wasteland.

I wasn't sure the Legion would buy into the idea that it was cursed, but I didn't. I hoped it wasn't, anyway... because I was going there regardless.

When the three raiders we encountered attacked us, I had no patience for them. I wasn't wearing my best armor (I'd left it in Megaton before we went to Oasis), so I made a point to avoid being shot. I was wearing armor, but... it wasn't going to protect me as well as my Dragonskin.

Dogmeat in battle now was very impressive, though the same should be said of him previously. He was able to jump higher, run faster, and strike harder. Just the sight of Dogmeat's new "form" was enough to stop one of the raiders in surprise. There aren't many cyberdogs in D.C (they're more abundant out west).

Typically, Dogmeat would run his target down and latch onto the neck until the foe stopped moving. Though his jaw wasn't replaced (it was actually unharmed), he could rip out a foe's throat much faster and move on to another enemy before the first even got the chance to die.

Dogmeat's attacks were always vicious, but he rarely left someone suffering for too long. Neither of us liked killing, but when we have to do it, we feel better when our targets die quickly, or at least go unconscious so they don't have to feel it.

Dogmeat actually killed two of the three raiders, and I killed the last. Neither of us took a bullet.

We ran into a little more trouble during the rest of the trip, but I had my lesser armor as motivation to avoid being shot, and Dogmeat's new power was too much for the drugged up raiders we came across.

His new eye would glow menacingly when we were fighting. It was likely made to do that to eat away at the enemy's will to fight.

If that was the case, it worked, because some raiders we came across ran away. I wouldn't be surprised if a few opted out of the raider business.

The trip continued with Dogmeat and I walking. I made sure my radio was off and the antennae was unscrewed so my position couldn't be picked up, and I walked into Andale with hardly a look at the guard.

Andale was still a fairly small town. There were a few houses, and one building with a board that read "Comrade's Bar and Grill" in front of it. There was no doctor's office, and the only merchant in the town was the owner of the bar.

I could hear a radio muffled inside playing some Russian music, and I opened the door.

Comrade's was a musty old bar. There were a few booths, a bar, the radio, a backroom, a bathroom, and a few barstools. There were several people sitting in the booths, and two people at the barstools. Above the bar was a sign that read "STORE POLICY: Fuck yourself, no refunds".

Dogmeat stayed as close as possible to me for as long as we were in here. I don't have any tolerance for alcohol anyway.

"Come in," said the bartender. His was a heavy Russian accent, and he was a tall man. He had medium blonde hair, one lazy eye, a red nose, and he was wearing what may have once been a white shirt. He was cleaning a glass, and I looked side to side (one man sat at one end of the bar, and the other sat at the opposite side). One was drinking a scotch (he was on the far right), and the other was drinking Vodka.

I don't know what exactly he was drinking (the label on the bottle was so weathered that the bartender had to write "VODKA" on it in white paint), but he didn't so much as look up at me. I knew he was watching me with his peripheral vision, but he wasn't worried I was there to hurt him. He looked like he was more concerned about his "VODKA".

I sat next to the man.

"What do I get you, lass?" asked the Bartender. On his shirt, he had lovingly stained 'Dimitri P." on his left breast with what I hoped was some kind of ink. I gestured to the Vodka drinker with one thumb.

"I'll have what he's having," I said. The Vodka drinker snickered to himself (it sounded kind of like wheezing).

"Is a good choice," he said. "It's like drinking your way through time."

"How do you mean?" I asked. He didn't look over at me.

"Do you have the time?"

I looked at my Pip-Boy. "Yeah, it's... 4:30."

"I started at 9."

I chuckled softly, and he resumed drinking.

"Nikolai Rascalov?" I asked. He shook his head without looking at me.

"I do not know this Nikolai that you seek," he said, at which point Dimitri came back with my order.

"There you are... Hey, Nikolai, when are you paying your tab? It's due two days ago."

Nikolai rolled his eyes to stare at Dimitri. The latter was grinning, like he meant to call his lie for me.

"Damn it, Dimitri... you're supposed to be my friend."

"I'll be your friend again when you pay what you owe me!"

With that, Dimitri walked off to deal with the other man's order. Nikolai finally looked at me, and I got a better view of what he looked like.

He had brown hair, brown eyes, and the way he was sitting at the barstool made him look small and frail. He sat up straight when he looked at me, but he wasn't very muscular. Still, looking at the man was fairly intimidating, even to me. He didn't look very strong, but he looked like he knew how to fight nonetheless. His cheeks were rosy red and his teeth were fairly... disgusting. When he was idle, his upper lip would curl back a little, in almost a sneer.

"Alright, you found me. I'm not coming quietly. If you don't walk out that door right now, I kill you and make mess in this bar."  
I stared. "What?"

"You wanted Nikolai. Only people that want Nikolai want to kill him."

"He's right about that," called Dimitri. "Pay, you son of a bitch."

We ignored him. Nikolai had a hand behind his back, like he was handling a gun. Dogmeat growled lowly.

"No, I'm not here to kill you, Nikolai..."

His hand left his gun, and Dogmeat stopped growling. Nikolai didn't pay much attention to Dogmeat. He stared at me for a few moments, and what I think was understanding washed over his face.

"Oh! You're here for that... right, uhh... let me finish my drink, and we'll do it."

"Huh?"

"Da, the flower sacks in back are very comfortable."

My eyes widened. "Woah, woah, woah! I'm not here for sex."

He looked at me. "Huh?"

"I'm not here to have sex with you..."

He stared for a few moments. "I'm sorry, I don't quite understand what you mean... unless we already did it and I was too drunk to remember, in which case I'll be pissing away your child support given about another hour."

He started drinking from the bottle again. I sighed.

"No, I'm here to talk to you about something else."

"What's your name?"

"Milly. I'm from Vault 101."

He paused a moment, and then nodded knowingly. "Da, and you're also the girl that whores herself out to the Brotherhood."

I blinked, and Dogmeat growled lowly again. "I don't know about that," I said.

"I'll call you Milly, but it's going to sound a lot like 'Brotherhood Whore'. What do you want, Brotherhood Whore?"

I lifted my backpack onto the table (and nearly broke the Vodka bottle and glass I was offered).

"I'm here about the Legion."

"You mean the homoerotic Roman has-beens, right?" he asked. I nodded.

"I have intel that says that the Legion is trying for D.C-"

He stopped me abruptly, and turned in his seat to face me completely. He put his hand on my wrist and came in close to me. (His breath _reeked_.)

"Intel on the Legion is very valuable, because they go to great lengths to keep it... but we should not speak of these matters now. The Legion has eyes everywhere..."

He turned back to the bar, and started playing with his vodka bottle, managing to get one of the guys at the booths behind us reflected in the glass. Looking at Nikolai, I knew he did so deliberately. He tapped the bottle a few times.

"...Blind one of them."

The man was someone I recognized from the Citadel. He wasn't in the bar when I walked in, and he was eyeing me. When I turned to look at him, he got up and left.

He was a Brotherhood scribe. There was no reason for him to be out here. Spies and Paladins alike are trained to look for "JDLR" situations, or a situation that "just doesn't look right". This would be a prime example.

I followed the Scribe out of the bar, and saw him start running for the wasteland.

"Hey... hey!" I called. He muttered something into his hand, but I couldn't hear. Dogmeat and I started running after him, but Dogmeat sped up to catch him.

"Don't kill him, Dogmeat!" I called. Dogmeat nearly stumbled and stopped as if to say "Oh, come on!", but he caught up and knocked him down nonetheless.

I caught the Scribe (I couldn't recall his name), and had my P99 to his throat immediately.

"Alright, what's the big idea? Why are you following me?"

"I shadow you because it is Caesar's will."

I blinked, and then shook my head.

"I don't believe this... you're working with the Legion now?"

"Now? I've always been. How do you think our men found you? How do you think they got your picture?"

I stared at him.

"You should tell me everything you know about the Legion right now, before I take you back to that bar and see what those Russians will do to you."

"You're in no place to make orders, woman," he sneered. "You're through. You'll never destroy the Legion. Our men may not have managed to kill you with your deathclaw friend, but you are doomed to ruin. You are doomed to slavery, or a cross. Your dog is strong to have survived the crash, by the way..."

"Tell me about the camp in D.C."

"It's got flying anchors and jumbo shrimp."

I stared him in the eyes, and I started hearing a beeping sound. My head shot to his hand and saw him clutching a detonator.

"I believe we're done here," he said. I jumped off him and got clear of the blast, with Dogmeat.

Not far away from me was a walkie talkie. He dropped it when Dogmeat knocked him down.

It was tuned to the Citadel. I turned it off in case it was traced, and Dogmeat and I walked back into Andale, shrugged at the thoroughly confused guard, and wandered back into Comrade's. Dimitri's head shot up when I walked in, and he looked at Nikolai.

"I told you she'd survive," said Dimitri. Nikolai shrugged, and Dimitri held out a hand.

"Where's my 50 caps?"

"Put it on my tab."

I sat down on the stool I was in before I chased down the "Scribe". Nikolai had taken the Vodka I ordered and started it. It was just as well, because I had no intention of drinking if it could make someone's breath smell as bad as Nikolai's.

"Okay, he's dead," I said. Nikolai nodded.

"Fantastic."

There was silence. I picked up my backpack again.

"What are you doing?"

"I told you, I have intel on the Legion."

"Don't insult my intelligence, whore."

I blinked. He looked at me.

"You don't have intel on the Legion."

I took it out of my backpack and pushed it to him on the desk. He flipped through it.

"I guess I owe you an apology."

He was silent for a moment.

"Put it on my tab."

I looked over his shoulder at the intel. He shook his head and snickered silently.

"What's so funny?" I asked. Dogmeat growled lowly at him.

"The Legion takes great pains to hold on to its intel, so you having this is the spawn of one of two things: The Legionary you took this off of was an incompetent idiot that would have been killed either way, or they want you to see this."

I blinked.

"Why would they want me to see what they're doing?"

Nikolai started pointing at Legion territories on the map. "This isn't a mistake. You didn't get leverage on the Legion. This isn't intel. It's an attack on your morale."

I was silent.

"We did this in Russia. Send a fall guy to accidently lose sensitive information that suggests highly organized, powerful forces... and whoever you're attacking loses the will to resist. I wouldn't be surprised if this was all false."

I shook my head. "Caesar's arrogance knows no bounds. I wouldn't put using actual intel to try and cripple an enemy past him. I want to use it."

"Just what do you hope to accomplish?" he asked.

"Total extermination. If I can get forces to cripple the Legionary influence in each state, it'll make Caesar vulnur... what are you laughing at now?"

"Natural selection, that's all."

I was silent.

"The Legion is always ready for a head on attack. You won't last twenty seconds, not even with those you whore yourself out to... assuming they'll still speak to you. You're speaking to someone they branded a terrorist, you know. That carries heavy consequences."

"I don't care. I want Caesar dead."

"The only one that'll end up dead is you."

"I'll ride in with a few Vertibirds, and-"

"Do you think that your Vertibird crapped out midway to that camp by coincidence, whore? The Brotherhood has Legion plants, just like every other group in this dump. Someone rigged that Vertibird. You weren't supposed to come back."

I immediately thought of the Scribe that blew himself up a few minutes ago, and I couldn't think of a more suitable way for him to die.

Nikolai glanced at Dogmeat for the first time... ever, really.

"By the looks of things, it almost worked for one of you."

Dogmeat glared at him.

"...what if I just take a Vertibird straight to Caesar's Fort?"

Nikolai chuckled to himself again like I was an idiot.

"Fine, whatever. Go call for your Vertibird. Come back when you're serious."

"Well, how else could we get to Caesar?"

"I don't know... walk?" he said. I stared at him, he blinked, and he shook his head.

"No. No, no, NO. Not "we". You. How else will YOU get to Caesar? Why should I help you?"

I smiled sweetly.

"Dimitri! What's Nikolai's tab look like?"

M_m

About two hours later (and me being 500 caps poorer), we came to a compromise. Nikolai reluctantly agreed to help me on my mission because it meant he could kill more people (Nikolai enjoyed taking lives, which made me stop wondering why Three Dog considered him a psycho).

First, though, we had to decide our attack. It was difficult when Nikolai was so far gone that he could hardly string together sentences.

"Head-on attacks with group like Legion are us-useless... Should be quiet."

I blinked. "Huh?"

"Quiet... attacksh... and... fuck it."

...

"Just smack him as hard as you can," said Dimitri. "I've seen plenty of women do that to him, and it always sobers him up."

I didn't need to be told twice. I was interested in an alliance. For anything else... I did not like this man. I threw my hand across his face _hard_.

"OW!" he shouted. He glared angirly at me for a moment, and then it softened a little. "Wait... do it again."

_Smack!_

"OW! Alright... uhh... what're we talking about?"

_Smack!_

"Agh! Stop! Right... uhh... head on attacks are useless with groups like the Legion. Covert attacks... uhh... with... Sniper rifle! Yes, that's it."

Nikolai was still a little messed up, so as far as he was concerned, I never met the bartender here.

"The bartender's name is Dimitri Petrov. You ask him where to find Sergei Yoblonovich. He's my arms dealer and he's involved in import/export services. We are childhood friends. You tell him that you are friend of Nikolai's, and maybe he give you discount..."

Nikolai took a drink, and continued.

"...or he shoot you in the head. Probably discount, though. If I were you, I'd go ahead and pay full price."

I smiled.

"That's nice, Nikolai... I guess... but, I'd like to see if the Brotherhood can hook me up with a few weapons. What should I ask for?"

"Any sniper rifle with attachable suppressor, suppressor for your handgun, trench knife with anti-reflective coating, and see if they have a ghillie suit for you. If they don't have these things, ask Dimitri for Sergei."

I nodded, and I walked outside the bar, finally turning my walkie talkie on again.

"Milly to Citadel. I need to request a few weapons."

There was static for a few moments and then a voice came back.

"Who is this? You'll have to speak up."

"This is Milly of Vault 101. I need to request a few weapons."

"We have a burn notice on you."

I was silent and my heart skipped. I knew I was going to be in trouble for recent events, but... I didn't think Lyons would go so far as to _burn _me. I thought back to that Scribe and his walkie talkie. I bet he was at least somewhat responsible.

I had to try again.

"This is Milly of Vault 101. I need a few weapons: I need an AS50 sniper-"

"We've got a burn notice on you. No go."

A burn notice is how a spy is fired. A popular saying amongst spies regarding burns is that you can't take away a covert operative's training, but you can take away what that operative needs in order to function. The Brotherhood of Steel can't take back what I've learned since I left Vault 101, but it does have ways to cripple me.

I didn't need to go home to know it was likely raided by the Brotherhood already. Any weapons and ammo I left behind with the exception of very low quality weapons were likely gone. My Dragonskin armor was likely gone. I couldn't ask the Brotherhood for help anymore... the more I thought about it, the more it sucked.

They'd probably take all the caps they could find, too. I hide most of my money under my floorboards where I didn't think they'd look. I had to hope it was all still there, or else I wouldn't have any money to pay this "Sergei".

So, I went back to Comrade's to speak with Dimitri. He was getting ready to close up shop, and Nikolai was passed out on a few sacks of flour in the back room. It didn't seem like an uncommon occurance to Dimitri.

"You need to come back tomorrow. I'm closing," said Dimitri.

"I need you to help me meet a Sergei Yo... Yoba... Sergei Y."

"Sergei? What the hell did Nikolai tell you?"

"That they were childhood friends, and if I wanted a discount, to mention him."

Dimitri shook his head.

"No, if I can get ahold of Sergei, you mention me. My name. Maybe he give you discount if you mention Nikolai, but then again, maybe he shoot you in the head. Mention me, and he will definitely give you discount."

I nodded uncertainly.

"What did Nikolai do to Sergei?"

"I wasn't there for it, but apparently Nikolai got drunk and ruined his wedding."

"...so because of that, he'd want to kill me?"

"It happened three times."

I blinked. Dogmeat nudged my leg and I looked down at him. He stared at me as if to say "Really? You want _this guy_ to help you?"

I sighed. "I need to go home and get money together. How much should I take?"

"How much do you have?"

I sighed again. "...Fine. Make the arrangements with this "Sergei". I'll get my money together and return tomorrow."

Dimitri nodded, and I turned away. In the back, I heard a bottle break, followed by Dimitri cursing Nikolai's name.

...why did I want his help again?

G_G

"I don't believe this," I said, staring at the mess that was once my house. My robo-butler, Wadsworth, was going mad trying to clean up the mess the Brotherhood left behind. They raided my armory and left only my bolt action rifle (I called it "Bolt"), and a Beretta Tomcat. I was not surprised to find my Dragonskin missing, either. They took all the money they could find, and they turned my house upside down to do so.

They didn't look under my floorboards, though. You could see under them without picking them up, and my money was placed in such a way that, by a trick of the light, you could never actually see it unless you knew which boards to pick up.

I had to pack all the caps that I could carry, but it still probably wouldn't be enough. I decided to dig out a camera and take a photo of the rest of my caps and give the key to the house to Sergei. It would be better than carrying all those caps at once. I wasn't going to leave again that night because I was exhausted (and I didn't eat before I left GNR), so I plopped my backpack down, and looked in my fridge.

At least they didn't take my food away, too. A burn is meant to cripple an operative, not kill.

I had a few pieces of Brahmin Steak that needed to be eaten soon, and I had a Nuka Cola and some purified water. My robo-butler kept cleaning up the place, but I was content to sit in this messy house and have a meal as long as Dogmeat was with me. I gave him the juciest piece of steak out of the two I had, and I cooked mine using a flaming blade called a "Shish-Kabob". I didn't use it for killing, because it was too vicious for my tastes, it required fuel to keep burning, and it was as likely to burn you when you swung it around as you were to burn your enemy. The Brotherhood knew my tastes, or else they would've taken it, too.

So, I used it to cook food sometimes. My robo-butler would always frown upon me when I did that, because it seemed dangerous, and it was, but sometimes I get so hungry that I don't care if I lose some hair. I'll either use the Shish-Kabob or eat it raw.

Dogmeat eyed me while I cooked the steak. He rarely started into his own food without me, but I knew he wasn't waiting for me to finish cooking. He was watching me because he wanted me to know something.

I sighed. "I know you don't like this, Dogmeat, but Three Dog vouched for him, and he's always been straight with me. I have to at least try."

He growled lowly, and I frowned. "I'd rather try this with some help. The Vertibird feels like my warning. If I try to do it again like that, I don't think we'll be so lucky."

He only growled louder at me. At first, he was irritated at the mention of my trying to do this with Nikolai, but now he was growing slightly angry with me. No, Dogmeat never gets outright fed up with me. We never fight physically; he never glares at me... but it does hurt when I manage to get him angry.

I knew what he was thinking, too. I said we were lucky, and I don't think he was very happy with his current condition. He was staring at me as if to say "Lucky? Look at me! You call this 'lucky'?"

I felt my eyes getting ready to water up, because I never liked seeing Dogmeat angry (I didn't like seeing Cord angry, either). I didn't like seeing those that I cared about upset, especially with me.

"I'm sorry, boy," I said. "I know what you're thinking... but I consider us lucky because... if you didn't survive that... I don't know what I would've done."

My last words choked me up, and Dogmeat stopped growling at me. He let out a breath through his nose and eyed me with sorrow. I could still pick up some irritation, but it was towards the thought of an alliance with Nikolai. It hurt me to think that it was bothering Dogmeat so much, but... it seemed like a necessary evil. This man was a psychotic drunk that called me the "Brotherhood Whore", but he was also ex-Spetsnaz. Spetsnaz were Russian Special Forces before the war, and once they rebuilt and formed a standing army again, Spetsnaz returned.

They were very effective, because up until the day of the Great War, the U.S allegedly considered Spetsnaz Operatives to be extremely dangerous, coming in second only to Chinese Soldiers. The feeling was mutual, because Russia supposedly considered U.S Special Forces to be extremely dangerous.

Not many people know these things (very few know what "Spetsnaz" means), but those of us raised in a Vault had to take extensive courses on World History leading up to the Great War.

I had to assume that Nikolai could be invaluable to me. I'd have to deal with his insults until Caesar was dealt with, and then I could never speak to him again.

By the time I finished my food, it was about midnight. I walked upstairs with Dogmeat, and I flipped my mattress back onto the bed (I think they could've at least cleaned up after themselves). I placed my guns on my desk and took off my armor and boots before laying down. Dogmeat jumped up onto the bed with me and got close.

His cold, metallic parts would take some getting used to if he was going to sleep on my bed. We got comfortable, though, and I felt him eyeing me. I smiled at him.

"We're going to get through this, Dogmeat."

He licked my forehead in response, and I fell asleep with my head tucked under his.

Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

_**Revolution! Revolution!**_

Though it's only been several days since the tin men made me shiny, I'm already growing irritated every time I wake up. My old eye wakes up normally; the shiny one stays dark for a few seconds, and words flash in it. On my first day, the tin men said something about it meaning the eye "warming up". I didn't know what they meant by that, because my eye doesn't feel warm.

My head still felt funny. I was told I would get used to the weight of my "brain case" (I think that's human talk for the glass bowl with the mushy thing in it), but until then, I had to make due. It felt a little heavier, because the glass bowl was full of water or some other liquid.

When I woke up, I decided to stretch my legs. The shiny ones were always numb, and no matter what I did, I couldn't really get feeling in them. Sometimes I could feel the shiny parts I had, but most of the time... nothing.

I was able to move faster and hurt bad people quicker now, though... and it makes me happy that Milly doesn't think less of me for what the tin men did.

I woke up before her, and when I did, she looked peaceful. Cord's death brought us both even closer... but we both want him back.

It still haunts me... the day of his death. I think back to it and I ask myself why I couldn't just say "Apology accepted" when Milly did a long time ago... I had to hold the grudge. Cord died not long after I managed to say it, and I'm not sure if he believed me or not.

I whined lowly thinking about him. Why couldn't I bring myself to move sooner? Had I bound forward earlier, he might still be here, and if he was here, we probably wouldn't be going to that stupid man that insults my Milly for help.

Simply being in his presence angers me, and so far, he's been nothing but trouble for us. We saw him, and now Milly suddenly needs to find all her "caps"? She comes home, and the house is practically upside down?

His name calling bothered me most of all, though. He had nerve to call my human names. If she says the word, I'll happily put my teeth to his neck. I was not looking forward to travelling with him, but I held a little bit of hope that it wouldn't be for long. Milly was intent on killing the man that ordered Cord's death, which meant walking really far. While we were at it, she also wanted to kill the leaders of the territories we were going to pass through. She said it would weaken the Legion, but given a year or so, the man she wanted to kill would replace those she defeated, and the affair would repeat itself. To kill all the leaders, we (that is, us and Rascalov) might have to split up.

I looked around the house while I waited for her to wake up. It was looking better than last night (the metal man was cleaning it since we arrived), but I had a feeling this would be the last time we'd be here for a while.

It was sort of sad, really. Leaving this place... leaving the bomb town... it'd be difficult for both of us.

The good news was, when she finally woke up, we were already packed up and ready to go. She decided to hop in the "bath" before we left, because it would be the last time for a while that she was able to relax in that evil device. I wondered if I still needed "bath time", now that I'm all shiny...

Milly didn't take long in the bath tub, and when she was done, she put on a change of clothes, and packed two other shirts, pants, changes of underwear, socks, and she even packed as much water as she could comfortably carry. As for her money, she had it in one bag, and she carried that with her hand. Her backpack looked difficult, and I could see the desire to actually do these things drain from her face slightly.

However, it returned once she remembered the other funny talking man. She sort of hoped that he'd take a lot of her money, because it would take some weight out of her backpack. "Caps" aren't so heavy on their own, but focused in a bag and as numerous as they were, the weight got serious.

We left, and I carried one of her bags. She belted it on my back. Since I'm shiny, it doesn't weigh as much as it would've if she did that when I wasn't shiny.

She turned on the device on her wrist and the nice man called "Three Dog" was on. As it often did, the broadcast focused on Milly.

"Children, do you remember a few days ago when 101's talking deathclaw got killed? Do you remember how the Legion was responsible? Milly woke up four days after her Vertibird crashed during an operation, and now she's... I can't belive I'm saying this... Miss 101 is leaving D.C. I don't know how long she'll be gone for, and I don't know if she's even out there listening, but I have to try and say this: 101, if you can hear me... you need to know that there are monsters out there. The Capital Wasteland is bad, but the further west you go, the worse this place gets. Be very careful, because you may run into venemous creatures that can turn invisible, a new breed of Super Mutants, a more concentrated force against you... I almost wish you'd consider just moving to Russia. I wish you the best of luck, Mil, and return to the Capital Wasteland sometime. Return home soon."

The broadcast brought Milly some tears, but they weren't of sadness. She was both touched by Three Dog's words, and determined not to falter.

The remainder of the trip was largely silent, but it really wasn't so long. One man was standing between us and Andale (about four miles off). There was a pack brahmin by his side. He held up a photo, and looked between it and Milly a few times. I prepared to lunge for his throat in case he decided to attack her.

"Are you Mindy?" he asked in a thick "Rushing accent", as Milly might call it.

She shook her head. "My name is Milly."

"Oh."

The man dropped the photo. He turned to his Brahmin and started fumbling with a few packs.

"Are you Sergei?" asked Milly as she approached.

"That's what they call me," he said.

"So you're the smuggler?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Since you are woman and I don't hit women off the bat, I warn you one time: don't ever call me a smuggler. I'm in import/export business, and that business sometimes includes people."

"Noted. Dimitri sent me. Dimitri Petrenko."

"_Da_, and you want...?"

Milly held out a list to "Sergei", and he took it and read it over. He whistled to himself.

"That's impressive Christmas list. I have suppressors and anti-reflective knife, but I don't have AS50. I have SRS available, or you can give me a day. I have a buddy that can get ahold of AS50, but it uses .50 caliber rounds, which are expensive and not a typical find, so I imagine you run out of ammo pretty quick. As for the SRS, the one I have fires .308 rounds. They're fairly easy to come by, so... I give you 100 rounds for it, and you can probably find more as needed."

Milly nodded. "That's good. SRS it is. What about the ghillie suit?"

Sergei let out a breath and shook his head slowly. "That's a tall order. I don't have ghillie suit with me right now, but I have a buddy that has one, and he owes me a favor. I get ghillie suit to you by the end of today. Dimitri said you'll be at Comrade's probably, so I get it to you then."

She nodded again. "How much are we talking?"

"Suppressors run you 250 each, SRS 3000, one hundred .308 rounds run you 300, anti-reflective trench knife costs 1500, and the ghillie suit will cost 5000. You can do the math."

"10,050 caps for this stuff?" she asked. I don't know how much we brought, but I didn't think it was that much. I know Milly _had_ at least that much hidden away, but...

"For someone that is not friend of Dimitri, is 30,000 even."

She sighed. Looking at her, I could tell that she was in no mood to argue. She took the bag from me and tossed it to Sergei. It was heavy, but he caught it with one hand.

"There's probably not the amount you're asking for in there. I can't carry that much. However, I do have..."

She took her backpack off and started fumbling through it until she found the photo. She took it out, and took her house key out, as well. She handed Sergei the photo, and he looked it over for a few seconds.

"I'll give you the key to my house. Alley side wall, twenty feet in from the north. Pull up the floorboards by the wall, and you'll find the rest of my money. Take what you need. I won't be returning to D.C for a while."

Sergei took the key, but he grabbed her wrist as well.

"I rarely do this, but I like you, Molly, so I'll take your word for it. However, take my word: I'm giving you the chance to be my friend. If you try to rip me off, you'll see what it's like to be my enemy, and you do _not_ want to be my enemy."

She frowned. "On my honor, that key will open my home, and if you look in the right place, the money will be there."

He released her wrist. I didn't have much of a problem with "Sergei". I'd prefer wandering around with him as opposed to Nickel-Eye. Sergei turned to his Brahmin and started with Milly's requisitions.

She put her "surpressers" into her backpack, and she put her new knife on her belt. It was sharper than what she was currently carrying, and the sunlight wasn't reflecting off of it. The handle had holes for her to put her fingers through, giving her better control over the blade itself. She handed Sergei the knife on her belt (a "Kris"), and the SRS went on her back. The ammunition went into her backpack. She stuck with her Steyr AUG (or "Cookie Monster", as she called it).

"I will meet you at Comrade's by tonight, so don't leave unless you want to make 5000 cap donation."

She nodded. "I'll see you there, thank you."

Sergei ignored her, and started walking off with his Brahmin. We looked at each other, Milly shrugged, and we headed for Andale.

0.0

She plopped herself down on the barstool next to Nickel-Eye. He was in the same spot as yesterday, drinking the same smelly stuff, and Dimitri was cleaning glasses behind the bar.

Nickel-Eye looked my human up and down a few times. He nodded and took a drink.

"Dimitri, check out the Brotherhood Whore. Sergei didn't kill her."

"That's because I didn't mention your name, Nikolai."

Nickel-Eye glanced at her. He sneered, and took another drink.

"Sergei says he'll have me a ghillie suit by tonight," she said. He nodded.

"That's terrific. Listen, do you even know the first thing about sniping?"

"I know that the object is to kill whoever is unfriendly and in your crosshairs without being seen."

"So, you not only hold your honor so cheaply that you whore yourself out to random cults, but you're also an amateur in the art of sharpshooting."

"I was hoping that having a mercenary around would be enough to fix that," she said. He paused midway through bringing his glass to his lips and stared at her.

"What did you just say?" he asked. She looked at him, confused, as did I.

"I said having a mercenary around that knows a thing or two about sniping should-"

He punched her. He punched my Milly in the face and sent her to the floor, and he was standing over her in a second.

My jaws latched onto his right arm instantaneously. He shouted and swore, and I held tight as he tried to get me off.

Realizing I wouldn't let go without taking his arm with me, he drew a handgun from his back and pointed it at Milly (with a hand to her cheek, tears in her eyes... not from sadness, but shock).

"You understand me?" he asked me. I growled while holding his arm.

"Let go, or I kill her."

"Nikolai, stop it!" shouted Dimitri. Nickel-Eye ignored him.

I eyed the gun warily, and when he cocked it, I released him, glaring. He turned his attention to Milly.

"I am many things, Whore. I am Russian, a branded terrorist, a murderer, a drunk, a soldier... but I do not fight for the deepest pocket. I am not a mercenary. I am NOT a war whore."

Milly nodded, grimacing. "Alright, I understand," she said. Nickel-Eye put his gun away and held a hand out to help her stand. She ignored it and got up on her own.

She smiled down at me. "Don't worry, boy. I'm alright."

I nearly went for Nickel-Eye's throat, but I was stopped by the bartender. He approached Nickel-Eye and hit him across the face with a length of pipe. The attack sent Nickel-Eye to the floor, and he lost a few teeth and started spitting blood out for a few minutes. He deserved a whole lot worse than that.

"Go out back, miss. We'll meet you out there to discuss some training while we wait for Sergei."

Milly practically dragged me out of the bar. My eyes remained locked on Nickel-Eye, still writhing on the ground from being hit.

Why did she want his help again?

End of Chapter

* * *

**7,791 words. I got that done quick. **

**Don't like Nikolai? Get used to him. We're seeing a lot more of that dick head in this story. As for Sergei and Dimitri... not so much.**

**Milly received a burn notice, so she can't go to the Brotherhood of Steel for help, can't use most of her equipment, and is on the shit list when it comes to Brotherhood-sponsored merchants. **

**As for her Vertibird taking a dump last time, it was the end result of sabatoge. Take a wild guess who made that happen.**

**Caesar is arrogant. Where some might feed the enemy false intel, he's the type that may actually give the truth because he feels invincible. This story will cover whether or not he is shown the truth.**

**Next chapter covers Milly receiving the rest of her equipment, training in stealth and sniping (recall that Cord mentioned that Milly is better at direct approaches, not stealth), and the first of many attacks on Caesar's Legion.**


	9. Depression

**Chapter 8**

**Depression**

* * *

**"Life, no matter how stressful, is not bad, even for just a minute."**

**-John Paul Larkin**

* * *

Ever since I left Vault 101, I had at least some knowledge of weaponry from nine years of targets and bullies. I had a BB gun in the Vault, which helped me have some understanding of other weapons (that's not to say I was excellent. I learned as I went along). I had to learn what it was like to be uncomfortable.

I'm not even that good with weapons in my own eyes. The only reason I'm still alive after taking on whole camps full of people is because, generally speaking, those camps full of people usually can't shoot the broad side of a barn.

Nonetheless, the wasteland taught me that comfort is always fleeting. I was prepared for the training I was to receive in sniping to be bad.

It was hell. The first day was the most physically taxing. Before I got my ghillie suit, I had to repeat to Dimitri and Nikolai the phrases they taught me while jogging in place, lifting a 50 pound crate repeatedly, or crawling through the dry dirt on my belly.

When I started to feel it, Nikolai told me that I was getting it easy. Apparently, he swatted a bug on his nose while at attention while in training, his superior noticed, and made him dig a 6' by 3' grave for the little insect and bury it.

When Sergei came by with my ghillie suit, we took a quick break. He approached me (I was sitting with my back on the wall of Comrade's).

"Do you know how to use ghillie suit?" he asked. I shook my head.

"Don't bother, Sergei. We're teaching the Whore everything else. We might as well teach her when to make use of her ghillie suit, too."

"Fuck you, Nikolai! Come out here and face me like a man!"

I should probably mention that Nikolai was hiding in the bar the moment Sergei became visible. I quickly learned that the one thing Nikolai feared worse than sobriety was Sergei Yoblonovich. Dimitri approached Sergei.

"One more thing... lass, you and Nikolai are planning on going all the way to Vegas, right?"

I nodded, taking a long gulp of water.

"It'll take forever on foot. Sergei, do you have another means of transportation?"

"For Molly, of course. For Nikolai? He can walk."

Though I wasn't interested in Sergei (Dimitri was the one that had the crush on me), I pouted.

"Please, Sergei? For me?" I asked. He eyed me for a few seconds, but was in no mood to really argue with me. Still, the thought of helping Nikolai brought him pause, and after a few moments, he managed to say:

"...fine, but I have wife."

One could see how mentally taxing it was for Sergei to agree to helping Nikolai, too.

"You got married again? Why wasn't I... oh, yeah..."

Sergei was seething at the thought of helping Nikolai, but he continued (albeit through clenched teeth).

"I have a buddy that owes me a favor up north. He's got a few horses that he can send down... or they're really skinny brahmin... no, I think they're horses. Anyway, I have him send a few down, and I teach you how to ride them. I just don't want to see Nikolai."

I blinked. I knew horses survived the Great War (just barely), but there were none shy of what was once some place called "Canada" left, as far as I knew.

"It'll cost you what I left behind. This particular favor won't come easy."

Sergei and Dimitri started talking, and I had another twenty minute break until Sergei was no longer even visible on the horizon. Once he was gone, Nikolai came back outside again.

"Okay, let's continue."

My first day of training had nothing to do with actual sniping. All it was was them trying to see what I can do. I had training to become a covert operative for the Brotherhood, but... not like this.

Nikolai drew the most fun out of making me suffer. Times came where I could simply do no more and I had to stop. During one of those times, I was very hot and Nikolai lovingly cooled me down by pouring a bottle of Rum on me. He wouldn't dare sacrifice whatever was in his "VODKA" bottles, but once I gave him a dirty look and Dogmeat almost went for his throat, he was surprised. In his words, he was actually trying "to do good".

Needless to say, my best friend on that first night was initially sleep. I didn't even mind that I had to sleep on the floor in the back of the bar.

Sometimes, if my back is bothering me, sleeping on the floor is usually all I need to do to fix it, so I don't mind.

I was asleep once I hit the ground and Dogmeat curled up around my head sometime during the night.

That night, I dreamt about our vacation in Oasis. We swam (Dogmeat, too. I thought he was afraid of water, but I think he's just a little claustrophobic, or else he might not give me a hard time if I need to give him a bath) most of the time, but at night, I'd take out a book and read for a while just before we all lay down to sleep. I'd read it aloud so Cord and Dogmeat could hear (Dogmeat can't read, and Cord's eyes weren't so good at the end), and then we'd all get together and rest.

I've said it time and time again, but I missed him... tonight more than usual. I was crying when my eyes opened after the dream stopped. Dogmeat was still asleep, Nikolai was sleeping on some nearby flour sacks, and I missed Cord.

My God, I really missed him. Why didn't I give him morphine or something in his last moments? His last word to me was "hurts". I felt like... I could have at least helped the pain go away.

Instead, I kept trying to treat him for a few minutes after he died. What was wrong with me? I felt him exhale his final breath. I saw his eyes glaze over, his mouth hang open until I shut it for him... I kept working on him even though it was too late.

I looked at my Pip-Boy. It was 3:16 in the morning. Nikolai and Dimitri would want to continue at the crack of dawn.

I felt something warm and wet on my cheek. My sobbing woke Dogmeat up. Nikolai, meanwhile, had rolled off the flour sacks and landed face first on the floor. He still didn't wake up.

Dogmeat looked into my eyes, and I knew he felt the same way about Cord. He knew what I was thinking. I wanted to go back to sleep... but whenever I shut my eyes, I kept seeing Cord's pained face, telling me that his wounds hurt...

"Shut up..."

I kept sobbing into Dogmeat's chest, and I felt him start to cry a little with me. He rested his head atop mine and we both thought of our loss.

"I said shut up..."

We both tried to calm each other. Nikolai shot up, grabbed a gun from under the flour sacks (Dogmeat no doubt stared him down), and he ran to the back door, throwing it open with his free hand.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up! If you don't go home right now, the cannibals that used to live here will be the least of your worries!"

He was shouting at a few kids being loud outside. I think he temporarily forgot Dogmeat and I existed.

Once they didn't listen, he shot a few rounds out the door and they left. He shut the door, locked it, stuck his gun under the flour sacks, lay down again, and fell asleep.

We managed to calm each other down eventually, and Dogmeat stayed awake until I got to sleep again.

0.-

Very little time was wasted on the second day. Nikolai offerred me toast for five caps, and when I gave him the caps, he held up his drink and said "To the Brotherhood Whore and her almost-dog!"

I thought it was cute, but those five caps were all I had on me (I always keep a few with me).

After breakfast (Nikolai eventually relented to my puppy eyes and toasted some bread, which I spread some honey on), we were outside again. This time, I was given a crash-course on how to make use of a ghillie suit. Dimitri was in the bar, so it was just Nikolai, Dogmeat, and myself. Dimitri had set up a few dummies at various ranges for me to practice my weapons on sometime during the night, and we would be making use of them today.

"Ghillie suits are only useful if you use them right. If you are in an area where tall grass and shrubbery are prevalent, you take tall grass and tie it into these little notches... like this."

Using his own ghillie suit, he started taking some weeds that were growing in the dirt and began tying them into his suit. There were so few around us that it was kind of stupid, but he was just showing me so I could know later.

Either that, or he honestly thought that would make him invisible.

"However, sometimes grass not so tall, or it's not all over the place. If you're in a wasteland, mud will camoflauge you, too. It might even cool you down a little... for about fifteen seconds. Ghillie suits get hot fast."

I nodded. He stared at me. "You realize that these aren't going to be the best choices in every state, right?"

I nodded again. He gestured to my ghillie suit. "Put it on and meet me here again. We're going to go over moving behind enemy lines."

I started putting on the ghillie suit, and he was right. It wasn't long before I started to get hot in it. It was heavy to wear, and I wasn't looking forward to lugging it across the country. I really hoped that I could pick up horseback riding. As it turned out, horseback riding was one thing all Spetsnaz learn in Russia. It's one of their main methods of transportation, apparently.

When I returned to Nikolai, he stared at me for a moment.

"Why did you put that on?"

"You told me to."

He blinked, and his face grew angry. "Don't screw with me, whore."

"Nikolai, you actually told me to put this on about two minutes ago."

He grew angrier for a second, and then went into thought. "Did I?"

I nodded uncertainly. He nodded in return. "That's right... I forget sometimes that you'll do almost anything I say."

"Don't push it, Nikolai."

He turned to the dummies. "Right, whatever. First and foremost, there's the old lady hobble. You basically hunch your back a little and walk otherwise normally. When you're blending in with your surroundings well, it's effective. Just move slowly. And be prepared for a back that's screwed six ways to Sunday in the future if you overdo it."

For good measure, he started walking like he described and I imitated, though my muscles were still sore from the day before and they cried out as I taxed them so. I must've done it right though, because Nikolai didn't have anything smart to say.

"Next, it's your standard crouching walk. I'm sure you've done it before. You were with those Brotherhood pigs for so long, I figure avoiding being seen is a common thing for you. Either that, or bending over a table-"

"Nikolai."

"Right, so the standard crouch is the second position. Again, it's very effective if you blend well with your surroundings. This technique may screw up your knees for the future, which may force you to do the old lady hobble as you age, which will screw up your back, and depending on how severe the back problem is, may get you to do the final technique."

Nikolai dropped to his stomach and lay on the ground. "Go prone, and crawl forward slowly. This is what you do when you're not blending so well, or you're being searched for and they're not exactly certain of where you are. This is the only technique that won't totally mess up your joints or back. Unless you die."

I nodded understandingly. Nikolai did the first, second and third technique, and I imitated (and was sweating a little). He nodded his approval.

"It's up to you to know when to use each of those movements."

I nodded, still sweaty. I was inwardly disappointed, because I hate being sweaty, especially since my next bath wasn't likely to be in my near future.

I wouldn't say anything to Nikolai, though. If I can't be in my ghillie suit because it makes me sweat, then mine is already a lost cause.

After the ghillie suit crash course, we went over the sniper rifle. Nikolai taught me about the small dots in the crosshairs. He called them 'mil dots'. They're used for aiming if you're firing from very far away, or if the wind picks up. They're for compensation purposes. We talked about when to do what with the mil dots for several hours, and then started talking briefly about one of the things I can target: the "deadly T". It was the eyes, between the eyes, and down the nose to the mouth, so it formed a sort of capital "T". Nikolai said snipers aim for it because it's the general area of "important stuff", by which I think he meant the brain stem, for the most part. All torso shots are fair, too, but they rely on blood loss or trauma to kill, if you don't hit a vital organ. If hit correctly, the deadly T means the target will die before he or she hits the floor. I didn't actually fire at all until we were done. Nikolai first asked me to load my weapons without the suppressors. I did so, and he had me go prone a distance away from the dummies. They were 25, 50, and 75 yards away, respectively.

Nikolai looked at the dummies. "Okay, here's how this works: I'm going to shout out a target, and for each one I want you to take a shot as directed. Each time you get a bullet in the right spot, I give you one bullet in return so it didn't go to waste. Each time you miss, I don't give you a new bullet because you don't deserve it. I'll call targets until I get tired. You're using .308 rounds, so the SRS will hold 7 bullets."

I nodded, but stopped him before he started. "Can we do a few practice shots before that? I've never fired this weapon before."

He shook his head. "No, you figure it out as you go along. The Legion won't let you practice shooting its numbers, so why should I?"

I was silent, and I loaded the weapon.

"Live ammunition," I said. He nodded. I scoped in all three targets. I've sniped before, but I don't do it often.

"Favor right: Target, 50 yards!"

As quickly as I could, I zeroed in on the dummy 50 yards away. I aimed... and fired.

_Bang!_

The weapon kicked, and I jolted. I wasn't startled by the kick, but the report of the gun itself. I didn't expect it to be _that_ loud.

My bullet caught the target in the left side, but it was a graze. I just barely hit it.

"No good. Try again, modify aim."

I glanced up at Nikolai, and saw him watching through a pair of binoculars I'd only then noticed. I looked through my scope again, and I fired again.

The gun didn't fire. I thought maybe the gun was jammed, but I pulled the trigger again to see.

_Click._

I looked at the gun in confusion. Nikolai tapped the bolt with his boot.

"Is bolt action, Brotherhood Whore."

...

...oops? I wordlessly went for the bolt, and then I took my eye to the scope again.

_Bang!_

I missed completely this time, but at least the weapon fired. Nikolai sighed to himself, but I couldn't really hear it. My ears were ringing. I dug into my backpack while Nikolai lectured me and took two cotton balls out to stuff in my ears.

"What the hell does the Brotherhood see in you? Alright, fine. Fade right: Target, 25 yards!"

(Oddly enough, I could still hear Nikolai easily. The man was loud, which made me wonder what force of nature made him a covert sniper.)

I moved to the target like he said, and I pulled the trigger, aiming slightly to the right.

_Bang!_

This time, I managed to hit the right spot (and I didn't go totally deaf). Nikolai wordlessly nodded, and dropped a .308 round next to me.

"Favor left: Target, 25 yards."

Once more, I readied my weapon, scoped in the target, and fired. Again, I was successful.

"Don't get too full of yourself, Whore. I can fire that weapon with my eyes closed."

I looked up at him. He glanced down at me while he dropped a bullet by my side. "I didn't say I'd hit the targets, but... look, just... shoot."  
I looked back into my scope, waiting for the order.

"Favor right: Target, 50 yards."

I took aim again, and I thought I'd have the shot... but again, I don't snipe often, and it's been a while since I actually did.

_Bang!_

Once again, the bullet went wide. Nikolai sighed loudly and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

"Honestly, if you can't hit stationary target 50 yards away, how do you expect to hit moving target 300 yards away?"

I looked up at him. "Give the order. I'll get it."

"Your funeral... fade right: Target, 50 yards."

I didn't fire straight away. I watched some grass to see which way the wind was blowing, but I had no way of telling what the speed was. It was out of the west, and didn't feel too bad. I compensated by aiming a quarter mil off target.

_Bang!_

I grazed the outside of the dummy.

"I saw what you did. You're getting the idea. Do it again."

This time, I compensated a little more (put the target just off the crosshairs), and I pulled the trigger.

_Bang!_

Finally, I caught the target in the intended area. Nikolai nodded and dropped a bullet by my side, but said nothing about the shot.

"Fade left: Target, 25 yards."

There wasn't much to say that time. Before I fired, I glanced at Dogmeat. He wasn't really bothered by the sound, by the looks of it. I figured that had something to do with his condition.

My eyes remained on the sensor at his neck, and I made a mental note to talk to him about it tonight.

"Whore. I gave you a target."

I nodded. "Right, just thinking."

"Think on your own damn time."

I didn't respond, targeted the dummy as ordered, and pulled the trigger.

_Bang!_

Now, I was out. Nikolai stopped me before I reloaded.

"This goes without saying, but if you're in open firefight and you're using sniper rifle for whatever reason, remember that it's quicker to switch to your sidearm than it is to reload."

I nodded. "Even so... learning to reload quickly wouldn't hurt."

I started reloading the weapon, but Nikolai standing over me staring made me kind of nervous. When I was done reloading, I looked up at him.

"Eh" was his professional opinion.

"Eh?" I echoed. He nodded. "_Da._ You were like my second wife: You got there, but I'd still shoot you... the cheating bitch..."

"I love you too, Nikolai."

He looked back in his binoculars.

"Deadly T: Target, 25 yards. There's a bottle of blood inside his head. Hit it right, and we have a fireworks display."

I found the target in my crosshairs, but glanced up at Nikolai.

"...Do you mean red wine?"

"No. We have a bottle of blood. Why do you need to know where it came from?"

I stared up at Nikolai for several seconds, and then decided that he seemed like the type to have a bottle of blood handy. He was a borderline bloodsucker, anyway...

I digress. Even on the closest dummy, the headshot would likely be difficult.

"Whore, I can spot for you in the camp here in D.C, but once we split up, I can't hold your hand anymore until New Vegas. It's up to you then to make decisions of where to make your shot, when, and how."

I nodded while aiming, but I could hear Dogmeat sigh in what I think was relief. He really didn't like Nikolai.

_Bang!_

The only reason I got the shot where it needed to go is because I was imagining several desirable things: peace and quiet while I travel (at least, compared to being around Nikolai Rascalov), and I was pretending the bullet was being fired at Caesar.

Nikolai still didn't offer any means of a compliment (not that I expected him to). He simply called another target after dropping another .308 round by my side.

"Favor right: Target, 75 yards."

Admittedly, I hesitated at first. Sniping isn't as easy as it sounds. You may have to compensate for any variables: wind, humidity, distance, the coriolis effect... even if you plan to shoot someone through a wall, you have to consider what the wall may do to the bullet's trajectory. Now, imagine your target walking, or running. It all comes down to your talent.

_Bang!_

Needless to say, I missed completely. Nikolai didn't have a smart comment for me this time.

"Fade right: Target, 75 yards."

_Bang!_

I overcompensated, and the bullet went wide to the left.

"Come on. Fade left: Target, 50 yards."

I started aiming for the target with a sigh of relief.

"Nikolai, where's my inspirational quote?" I asked. I fired, and the bullet went wide.

_Bang!_

"I've got an inspirational quote for you: You can't do it."

The wind picked up, so I went for the same target (Nikolai didn't give me a new one), and I aimed in the direction of the wind a little more. I fired, and the bullet found the target.

He dropped another .308 round by me, and I reloaded my SRS as quickly as I could, but it only being my second time trying quickly to reload, I fumbled a little and dropped the clip. Nikolai stared.

"Really?"

I nodded, picking it back up. "Everybody makes mistakes, Nikolai. Even you."

I fell onto my rear, Nikolai yanked the Beretta Tomcat from my ankle holster, and he pointed it at me with one hand.

"But this mistake could have killed you. You just gave the enemy an extra second to fire."

He grabbed my SRS, and walked up to one of the dummies. Then, he put my gun in the dummy's arms, and took a few steps back.

He held up my Beretta Tomcat, and fired. The first two shots missed the dummy altogether; the third caught it in its waist (the left side). He knocked the SRS out of the dummy's grasp and looked at me.

"That's you."

With that, he dropped my Beretta Tomcat by the SRS and walked back to his spot.

"Pick up your weapons, reload, and do it right this time."

The remainder of the day went like that. I fired and fired at targets until Nikolai was satisfied with my performance. I actually got an impressed "huh" out of him. It was towards the end of our day, when he called a shot on the 75 yard dummy, and I skulled it.

He tried to get me to do it again, but it was a lucky shot.

We retired to the bar that night. Dimitri had prepared a steak for Dogmeat and I, along with whatever Nikolai drank. I turned down the drink and asked for water instead, and Nikolai took the bottle of Vodka from me.

"You know, that's bad for you," I said. He nodded.

"So is trying to fight your way to New Vegas to kill Caesar, Whore."

I turned completely to him, plopping a piece of steak down on a plate for Dogmeat.

"What did I ever do to you, Nikolai? Why do you hate me?"

"If I hated you, I'd have put a bullet between your eyes when we met, and you'd be rotting in a dumpster somewhere right now."

"Okay... well, why the heavy drinking?" I asked. He glanced at me.

"Some people find that a just a few hours of sleep will get them through the day without breaking down into tears. I find that just a few bottles of Vodka will keep me from breaking necks."

"...Is Russia really totally rebuilt?" I asked.

"There is nothing more beautiful than the sunrise over the plains in Mother Russia," said Dimitri. "It is what it once was again."

Russia didn't take as much damage as places like America. It's just such a large area, and the population is scattered so much that it's not really worth it to try and destroy the land. Cities were mostly targeted, and the survivign population simply moved to the rural areas until everything calmed down.

"Why did you leave if it is what it once was?" I asked.

"Nikolai, Sergei, and I... we were soldiers. Civil conflict broke out in nearly all our cities. The one we grew up in, Volgograd... it stood against these rebellious fools. Rebels, who would sooner see the motherland as a wasteland again than adopt our government's orders."

Dimitri trailed off, and Nikolai took over. He didn't even look at me while he spoke, but he wasn't being rude. He was in the moment.

"We were given leave to arrest rebels, but not kill them. It wasn't until about 5 months into the worst of the conflicts that brothers waged war against brothers, wives killed husbands, parents killed children... soldier killed soldier. The first rebellion took Moscow by total surprise, and turned the town into a shadow of it's former glory."

"Spetsnaz was sent in to restore order," said Dimitri. "We fought alongside our friends, all from Volgograd, along with others we did not know from Moscow to the plains. The trip to Moscow... it was long and painful. Stronger men than I died walking. Horses, brahmin, wild dogs, men... seeing these creatures frozen to death was not unusual."

Nikolai nodded. "Each day of the trip, our company's superior officer, Sergeant Reznov, always said "When the man in front of you dies, take the essentials from his pack, and when you die, the man behind you does the same. When he dies..."

"...of a 2000 strong chalk... only 419 made it to Moscow. Of those 419, 184 survived the massacres there. Of those 184..."

"...19 survived the trip back to Volgograd. Sergeant Reznov shot himself midway through return trip. His body was left for the wolves."

Dimitri got Nikolai another drink. I looked down at Dogmeat, and he was eyeing the two men with a begrudging respect. Sure, Nikolai was a horrible person, but he knew how to tell a story.

"After order was restored, Nikolai, Sergei, and myself were discharged. We took to black market schemes under a well connected known terrorist named Andrei Faustin. It is he who ran Nikolai and myself out of Russia. Sergei started his own services in import/export. If you like, he can take you to Russia. You won't have to go after the Legion there."

I shook my head. "No, I'm not letting the Legion get away with its conquest."

All was silent for a few moments. "Did Andrei want Sergei gone, too?"

Nikolai nodded. "Faustin tried on several occasions to kill Sergei Yoblonovich, but he equals Andrei in connections. It's a game of chess now."

"Faustin no longer tries to have Sergei killed, but he does do whatever he can to weaken Sergei's influence. Likewise, Sergei does the same."

Once again, it was quiet. We'd been the only ones in the bar for the entire story. I weighed whether or not to tell one of my stories, but none of mine involved the deaths of nearly 2000 men. Even on its worst days, the Brotherhood never lost more than a few hundred in one battle in D.C.

That night, I sat outside with Dogmeat for a while. I couldn't sleep. We'd spend a few hours tomorrow training some more, and my crash course in sniping would be complete. After that, we'd attack the nearest Legion Camp.

I was tired, but I couldn't sleep yet. I searched through my backpack for the goggles I was given for Dogmeat's condition, and I found them. He stared at them.

Dogmeat knew what they were. I could see the recognition in his eyes. His stare gradually went to me, and I smiled at him.

"Dogmeat, we're going to be walking a lot. Some places we stop may require me to see through your eyes. I've never done so before, but I'd like to try so I can get an idea of how it works. Would you be comfortable trying this with me?"

He licked my cheek in response, which I took to mean 'Yes'. I looked at the goggles, shrugged, and put them over my eyes.

E.E

It was disassociation gone physical. I was standing on four feet, yet I was sitting on my rear. I had no thumbs, and yet I had thumbs. The top of my skull felt foreign, and yet my head felt fine. I was male, and yet I was female.

I was essentially in two places at once. At first, I couldn't move Dogmeat without moving my own body. I'd try to put a paw forward, and one of my arms would do the same. It wouldn't be such a big deal, except if I tried to scout through Dogmeat, and I myself was following him while I did so, it would sort of defeat the whole purpose of the goggles.

I could feel what he felt, hear what he heard, smell what he smelled, and see what he saw. It took me only a few minutes to understand how to get Dogmeat to move but my own body to stay. I simply had to think. Control meant telling each leg mentally to move.

Parts of his psyche worked on my mind. By that, I mean I could feel his instincts telling me what to do in the event of a fight. No, they didn't outright control my actions, but... the only way I can really describe what was happening is by saying his instincts were almost a voice in the back of my (his?) head.

The goggles were not meant for especially long range. A sticker on the side mentioned a 3 mile limit on the goggles. Any further, and the connection would terminate, and for the connection between our minds to terminate from distance could lead to any number of consequences: it could shatter my mind, leaving me catatonic, it could lead to a seizure, it could lead to mild nausea, it could lead to heart palpitations, it could lead to death, or on a rare occasion, the one wearing the goggles does not return. The connection terminates, and he or she remains part of the subject.

That was an isolated incident occuring to one man in the pre-war world, whose self ended up stuck in his dog for life. Most of the time, it's one of the other possibilities; typically a seizure followed by unconsciousness. It still makes for a popular story inside the Vault and out.

That's not to say I wanted to go outside the three mile limit. Of all those things that could happen to me, Dogmeat's fate would be the worst: he'd cease to be (his mind, that is). A note included with the goggles mentioned that I should take care to avoid injuring Dogmeat, because since we are linked, I will feel whatever pain he feels, though his injuries may not appear upon me.

Should he lose consciousness for whatever reason, I would do the same. Should he die, there was a chance of his ending up as a part of me. The goggles were likely rare before the Great War, since they were just a philosophical and scientific nightmare. Body Theorists and Dualists alike would hang themselves if they had to describe these scouting goggles. I am wearing the goggles. Who am I? Dogmeat, or Milly?

I did spend an hour or so figuring out how to trot along, walk quickly, run, and sprint (I even accidently got into a fight with a mole rat, and Dogmeat's instincts saved me from getting him hurt). I have to say, it was a good time. Seeing the world from his eyes was fascinating, and running around as quickly as he can was a blast. Still, I made sure not to do it too much, or Dogmeat might be too tired for tomorrow.

After I was sure I had a decent grip on how to do what, I returned to the bar (I didn't go too far off, anyway). I lay down. This time, I commanded my body to take off the goggles (and in so doing, raised Dogmeat's front paws to his head).

The goggles came off, and Dogmeat and I were staring at each other, very confused and very, very disoriented.

He recovered first, taking his paws off his head and standing up. He seemed to smile at me, as if he wanted to tell me he was alright.

I returned his smile, putting the goggles away and wrapping my arms around him. Dogmeat's always been a good sport for me. Of all who expressed sympathy for me on the day my Dad died, Dogmeat was the kindest. He was there for me for as long as I needed, and though he's a dog and I'm a human, I could almost feel the desire for human speech coming off of him. He wanted to tell me it would be alright, not simply be there for me to cry into.

After I put the goggles away and released Dogmeat, we walked back inside and lay down for sleep. Our sniper training in the morning would not take long. Most of tomorrow would be spent training in horseback riding.

It was often said that the Legion would tear itself apart if it got what it desired. That doesn't mean that greed would get to them, it means that their desires would destroy them. They desired expansion. As they expanded, their numbers would grow thinner to compensate. They would literally tear themselves apart.

At least, that was the idea. None would count on the Legion managing to get enough recruits as they expanded to continue to exist. Their numbers _were_ stretched very thin, but when all thought they'd destroy themselves, they still managed to exist.

Caesar's Legion was like a sheet covering the USA, pinned down in some places to avoid blowing away. They forced some to serve in their armies, while others became slaves. Known dissenters were crucified. They wanted Manifest Destiny.

I wasn't keen on allowing that to happen. Should I die, at least I die fighting.

Not that I planned on dying. I'm just saying.

That night, I almost felt the sadness wash over me as it did the night before, but when that happened, I'd just look at Dogmeat, and I knew that I could get through it.

That night, I dreamt of a Tranquility Lane sequence that was actually tranquil.

.-.

It was at 9 in the morning that I learned how to horseback ride (though riding itself was different, I had a natural balance after riding so much on Cord's back). The three hours before that was a final crash course on sniping basics, but we wanted to spend most of the time learning how to ride horses.

There was no sign of severe mutation among the horses of the world. They had bald spots and could move quicker and take more punishment, but that was the extent of their changes. Still, their faster movements and higher endurance came slowly. They only barely escaped extinction.

Even with the small bald spots, I fell in love the moment I saw that horse. I used to be told that I'm a sucker for animals, and I guess that's true, because I was also told that a twinkle in my eye was always my tell. If anybody saw that twinkle, they knew that I was already thinking of a name for an animal.

Of course, I don't keep many animals (just Dogmeat, and I didn't count Cord to begin with since he was a human under very strange conditions). I will name them and feed them from time to time, though (provided they don't try to kill me).

Nikolai may have seen that twinkle, and he looked at the horses. "Whore, try not to get attached. You'll only hurt yourself if you have to shoot it."

I didn't say anything to him. I simply walked up to the horse I chose. He was big with a brown coat and white socks, and his eyes were big and brown, but I could see courage in them.

His name was solidified in my book when Nikolai fired his pistol into the dirt to see how the horses react to gunfire (this is after Sergei left, of course). I named him Fortitude.

Nikolai called his "Horse".

As I said, Sergei had left after bringing us the horses. He didn't even say a word to us. He just wanted to get as far away from Nikolai as he could. I could tell that it was exceedingly difficult for Sergei not to go inside the bar and shoot him, though to be fair, _I_ found it exceedingly difficult not to go inside the bar and shoot Nikolai.

Before we started, I was told the basics of horseback riding. Nikolai told me that it was sort of like carrying a very full glass of vodka. If I look down at the glass, I'm more likely to spill the drink (or in this metaphor, I'm the Vodka, and if I look down, Fortitude is more likely to spill me). However, if I look straight ahead, that's where I'm going to go.

Dimitri told me that I was still youthful, and so I should not have an issue. I _was_ 23 at the time (Nikolai was born in 2250, so he was 31, but if it was up to his liver, he was born in 2250, so he was 70).

He wasn't implying that I'd be a natural born horseback rider. He simply meant I shouldn't have much trouble actually mounting the horse. He was right; I got onto Fortitude's back with relative ease. However, Fortitude didn't like me on his back, so he bucked me and I hit the ground with a "thud" the first time.

I landed on my back (thankfully I wasn't carrying my equipment this time. I had a feeling that would happen). I was sore, and for a moment needed to catch my breath. The fall knocked the wind out of me, but I wasn't horribly injured.

I could feel Fortitude's eyes on me, as well as Dogmeat. I heard footsteps, and saw Nikolai standing over me holding a bottle of scotch.

"Are you well?" he asked. I nodded from the ground, but made no move to stand yet.

"Yeah, just give me a second."

"Oh. I thought you were going to be unconscious. I was going to pour this on you."

"Well, I'm fine. How about you, Nikolai?"

He uncorked the bottle and poured some of the scotch on me anyway. Then, he turned away and walked off.

"Oh, I'm fantastic now."

I stood up (and spit the scotch out of my mouth), and I saw him already on his horse. I looked over my shoulder at Fotitude, and saw a look on his face that almost said "Don't even think about it".

I let out a sigh. _This_ was going to take awhile.

_**Revolution! Revolution!**_

It took six hours for her to get acquainted with the horse, and by "acquainted" I mean she had a vague understanding of a few ways to move with the horse.

It was one of the things she wasn't good at, but it was necessary if she wanted to go as far as she wanted to go.

She didn't actually acquaint herself totally with the horse in those six hours. It was more of me managing to convince the horse that she meant no harm. This horse (he was nameless until Milly got to him) was from "Rush-Uh", and I don't know exactly what happened to him there, but his trust was more difficult to win than the trust of most humans.

Most of her movements on his back (she called him Fortitude) were fairly sloppy, but once I managed to get him to behave himself with her, he'd compromise if she did something wrong. He wouldn't do what she wanted, or else she might think that it was right, and if she had to ride another horse we'd be up a creek without a paddle, but he didn't ignore her or punish her either. He'd sort of meet her halfway- he'd start doing what she wanted, but would stop so she knew she was wrong.

In a sense, the horse was training the human.

By three in the afternoon, Milly had a loose understanding of what she was doing right and wrong. By nine in the evening (she wanted to attack the funny-dressed men at midnight), she had enough of an understanding to know how to make Fortitude gallop, and also how not to fall off when he was galloping.

I wasn't so unfriendly with Fortitude, but he wasn't Cord. He had a dry sense of humor. Most of my jabs were lost to him, so I stopped bothering trying to really connect with him. He'd be our partner during the trip. It didn't seem like he'd be anything more to me.

Nickel-Eye, once Milly got down the basics, started firing a pistol around her. I thought for a moment that he was trying to kill her, but when I looked closer I took notice of how he was holding the pistol. He was always aimed slightly off. As it turns out, he was teaching Milly how to ride while under fire.

The final thing we did before we took a brief rest before the attack was make sure Fortitude was capable of carrying Milly's belongings and run at the same time. That took very little time, as Fortitude was a strong horse. He looked like half of his duty was to carry people and luggage alike.

Now, we were resting. We had three hours left to prepare for the attack. Milly, Nickel-Eye, Dimitri and I all waited inside the bar. After going over the plans once more, Milly kept to herself, I stayed by her at all times (as I typically try to do), Dimitri wouldn't be going with us, and Nickel-Eye was at the bar, but he wasn't drinking the smelly stuff.

I knew then that this may be one of the most dangerous things we've ever done. When we attacked the bad tin men at their base, one of the funny dressed people (Milly calls them "Legionaries") shot and killed another because he spoke out of turn. The tin men (the Enclave tin men) were bad, but I don't think they ever killed a member because he or she misspoke.

I looked at Dimitri, the bar owner. The entire time we knew him (a few days), he never closed his bar before 10, he never rigged the front and rear doors with shotguns, and he _certainly_ never put on body armor while eyeing the doors with an AK-47 in his hands.

Everybody really thought that these Legionaries were a big deal. Even so, Milly and I experienced an attack by the Legionaries before. We wouldn't be dissuaded, no matter what was said.

Finally, I looked up at my human. She was handling the goggles the good tin men gave her that make me sleep. They said that those goggles let her see through my eyes. I didn't really understand what they meant, but I trust her totally, and so if she needs to use them, she can feel free. I know she would do everything she could to keep me from harm.

Sure enough, when we tried them out the night before, I fell asleep, and when I woke up, my paws were over my head and I was a little tired, like I'd been running. I had no new injuries, and I tasted blood in my mouth; the blood of a mole rat.

The way she eyed me while we waited was bothersome. My condition may not have bothered her, but the way she eyed me told me something: she feared endangering me again. I could tell that she almost wanted to leave me behind while she did what she wanted to do, but that's not going to happen. I wanted to tell her that I wouldn't leave her side willingly, but I don't have the human tongue, and so my words are the equivalent of esoteric noises.

I took some solace in the idea that this trip meant seeing places and going places I've never seen or heard of before. The man who puts his voice in my human's wrist machine says that going where we were going may be more dangerous.

I couldn't see past the adventure, though. I knew Milly shared at least some of my enthusiasm for the chance to see new places. She was called the "Lone Wanderer" after all, and though she's never alone, she rarely passes up a chance to wander around. When she has to stand still, she'll typically shift her weight from foot to foot, trying anything to show her desire to move again.

It's why she'd prefer to walk on her own when we wandered for the sake of wandering. Cord always asked if she wanted to ride on his back, but unless we were in the middle of doing something for somebody (or for the good tin men), or unless she was sick or injured, she'd usually say no.

It was this independence that impressed most. She had the option of covering much ground quickly (and she always had that option up until his death, because Cord was always happy to give her rides).

For what she had planned, though, we had to cover very large distances. That's why she needed the horse. It may not be as fast as Cord was, but it'd cut the trip down a lot, and we'd need it cut down if we wanted to meet with Nickel-Eye in "New Vegas".

The device on her wrist beeped a few times. It was midnight. Milly had prepared her belongings in advance, but didn't take them out to the horse yet just so she could be sure she was ready. She even tied grass into her "gill-ee" suit in case she used it.

"It's time," she said. She gathered her belongings, disarmed the trap on the front door, and walked to Fortitude. Nickel-Eye followed not much later with his belongings: a "gill-ee" suit, what he called a "Dragon Of", his handgun, a knife not unlike Milly's, and a backpack full of necessities. A bottle of the smelly liquid was poking out of his backpack. He called out to my human.

"Hey, Brotherhood Whore."

She turned to face him. I growled lowly. He tossed a small black thingy at her.

"Download that chip to your Wrist-Man. It's an emergency radio frequency. I have radio in backpack. We will keep in contact once we leave D.C like that."

She nodded. "Fine, but it's a Pip-Boy."

"In Russia, it was Wrist-Man. Chip should work on it regardless, though."

She pressed the black thingy into a slot on her wrist machine, dialed a few buttons, and then talked into it. The wrist machine, that is.

"This is Milly. Nikolai is a jerk."

"Don't push it, Whore."

She smiled, and mounted Fortitude. Nikolai did the same for his horse, and we were off in the direction of the first of many Legionary Camps.

Y-Y

In 2277, a Legionary named Marcus helped us defeat the bad tin men in a big complex (I forget the name, but I remember that it was once a base for human made flying machines. I think it was called Alan's Air Machine Base or something). He and a group of Legionaries backed us up while we fought our way inside one building in the flying machine base, Milly pressed some buttons, and then we left. The base blew up as we left, but I later found out through Cord that the Legionaries were gone. It was like they never showed up.

I bring up Marcus because that night, we found the first Legionary compound. We left the horses back a bit, and we all took cover behind what may have once been the wall of a building.

"Stay here a second," said Nickel-Eye. There was enough grass for the "gill-ee" suits to be effective, so Milly quickly put hers on (Nickel-Eye had us stop, and he put it on earlier on a hunch).

Though it was very dark, I was able to see clearly through my shiny eye. I saw Nickel-Eye crouch not far away from the wall, and hold his binoculars up to his eyes. He scanned the landscape a bit before pointing slightly right with his finger. He carefully returned to us.

"The camp is that way. I count at least eight on patrol, three asleep, and I see one Legionary in Centurion armor. He'll be the one you want to kill."

Milly nodded.

"The intel says his name is Marcus. We're acquainted."

Nickel-Eye ignored her, and turned away.

"Keep close, or I will leave you behind."

Nickel-Eye started walking slowly, but he stayed low to the ground. He held the binoculars in one hand and his pistol (with the "surpresser" on it) in the other. We all walked quietly for about a minute before Nickel-Eye quickly waved us to the ground. Milly and he made use of their "gill-ee" suits. I wasn't very easy to see outside of daylight, anyway, but I lay down for good measure.

My ears were able to pick up Legionaries talking. They kept saying things about "Caesar's will".

It wasn't long before they walked up the hill we were on together. I could smell the anxiety coming off of Milly.

"...for a long time."

"Caesar has plans for the resistance, but I think he wants us to establish full control of D.C. first. To do that..."

"I know, the Vault Dwelling Profligate must die. That D.J seems to think she's leaving D.C. Maybe we scared her off."

"No, he thinks that she's off to kill Caesar. I say let her try."

They passed within 10 feet of us and didn't see us. Once they had their backs to us, Nickel-Eye rolled onto one side, and made a slashing motion across his throat with one finger to Milly, and then he pointed at one of the Legionaries. He holstered his pistol and drew his knife, and Milly did the same.

Using their footfalls and conversation as cover, Milly and Nickel-Eye attacked their targets. Milly severed the brain stem so the death was instantaneous and without pain. Nickel-Eye sliced his target's throat, the backs of both of his ankles so he couldn't walk, stripped him of his weapons and tossed them out of reach, and left him to die.

Milly didn't say a word, but Nickel-Eye's method of killing disgusted me. I put my teeth to his target's throat to speed up the death, and then quickly caught up to my human.

Both lay down again, but they crawled forward on their bellies. I stayed low, and kept at their speed. All the while, I kept my eyes peeled for any threats.

We continued for about an hour in that fashion. It wasn't such a long distance to the spot that Milly would shoot from. We just spent most of the time inching forward, and freezing when necessary. Most patrolling Legionaries stuck to the main camp; those other two were out doing who-knows-what.

When we finally got to our spot, Milly drew her sniper rifle (what she and Sergei called an "SRS"), loaded the weapon, and uncovered the scope.

"Okay," whispered Nickel-Eye. He lay down next to her and held his binoculars to his eyes. "No suppressor... hold fire, let me find the leader... egh, Legionary scum..."

While he looked through his binoculars, Milly made adjustments to the scope on her rifle by turning a little knob on top of the scope itself a bit.

"I've got him by the burned out bus, your 10 o'clock. Sight him with your scope."

Milly turned the rifle slowly, paused for a few moments, and gave Nickel-Eye a thumbs-up.

"Yeah, I see him."

"Don't shoot. Wait for a clear shot..."

...

"...hold..."

I could hear Milly's heart beating quickly.

"...hold..."

She took a breath to calm herself.

"...alright. Wind speeds are about 15 miles per hour coming out of the North. I say... compensate one mil up by half a mil right. Fade left."

She moved the rifle, which is what I assume Nickel-Eye meant by all that.

"I've got the shot..."

"Fire when ready."

All was silent for a few moments, and Milly squeezed the trigger.

_Bang!_

The bullet left the barrel with an explosion, though lately these events haven't bothered my ears much. From my viewpoint, I was able to barely make out a figure collapsing at the camp.

"Good effect on target-"

The gunshot was answered by an even louder explosion, and this one was fairly close.

"Time to go," said Nickel-Eye. We didn't need to be told twice. The Legionaries knew where we were. It was time to leave.

We started to run back to the horses-

_**Revolution! Revolution!**_

I think it was beginner's luck. I caught that bastard in the heart. In the moment I had before the first grenade launched at us, I saw Marcus fall and his body show no further signs of life.

After the explosion (one of the Legionaries had a grenade launcher or a bazooka), we started running for the horses. The downside to shooting at night was the muzzle flash was... obvious.

Well, obvious enough to be seen in contrast with the dark, anyway. Otherwise, the Legionaries wouldn't be trying to blow us up right now.

We ran no more than ten steps before another explosion hit, and this time it was much closer. It sent me into the air and Dogmeat flew a little, too.

...suddenly, I couldn't hear the gunfire anymore. My ears were ringing, my sniper rifle was on the ground a foot away, and Dogmeat was dazed not far from me, either (he didn't look harmed, but I couldn't tell for sure because my vision was swimming, too). I thought that the explosion injured me badly, but I was just a little out of sorts from being so close. I didn't know that at the time, though. I thought that this was my first and last kill in regards to Legionary Centurions. I drew my Beretta Tomcat (my USP .45 flew from my holster and landed not far from my SRS), and waited for Legionaries to start approaching. I had no idea where Nikolai was, and I was intent on going down fighting. If they got me alive, they'd either crucify me, or sell me into slavery, and I don't even want to know what they'd do to Dogmeat.

One Legionary started up the hill with an assault rifle, but before I managed to pull the trigger, Nikolai ran into view with his pistol and fired a few times into the Legionary's torso. Once he was down, Nikolai fired randomly down the hill, and ran to me.

"h...yo...ing?"

He slapped me around a few times, and that brought me around again. He grabbed my hand and brought his face a little closer to mine.

"I said, 'What the hell are you doing?' Pain is a design flaw. Stand up."

Nikolai pulled me to my feet (the explosion actually caught a ditch nearby, and so none of us were injured). Dogmeat got up, too, and I quickly grabbed my weapons.

We ran to the horses and rode off, though my heart was still racing even after we were safe from their gunfire.

All in all, the actual escape took no time once we reached the horses. The Legion was no doubt expecting me to try and kill their leader, but I think they prided themselves too much on the knowledge that I prefer head-on problem solving. None of them expected me to try a stealth approach. Absolutely none expected me to escape on horseback.

I had the feeling that this was the first and last time I'd catch the Legion by surprise. The word may get back to Caesar that Marcus was dead. Without Marcus, his men would have no direction. I figured they'd destroy themselves, and I was right. I found out later that the remaining Legionaries in D.C killed each other fighting over who would run things until Caesar got them a replacement.

Caesar would be slow to replace downed Centurions. Nikolai and I both knew that much. The consequence of his widespread control was the fact that his numbers were now thin. If you walked into a Legion controlled territory in the past, you'd know it for sure. Now, you could walk into the Legion's territory, and their numbers are spread so thin that they have very few patrols. The most heavily guarded place in a Legionary territory is the camp that controls it.

That's not to say you won't see Legionaries patrolling here and there. The reason so few have outright rebelled against them lies in the fear of the unknown. It is known that the Legion is spread thin, but it is still able to survive. The main reason behind that survival is its scouts. A popular phrase is "The Legion has eyes everywhere". You never know who is a scout and who is another civilian. Get caught even looking at a Legionary camp funny by a scout, and you're either dead or a slave.

The point is, my intel suggests that Caesar's Centurions are spread so thin that they are an exact number to a territory. That is, there are 12 major Legionary camps, and twelve Centurions active at any time. Caesar would have to look at his idle troops in depth, and decide carefully who should lead a territory I just finished in. Centurions are just shy of Legate (the highest rank in the Legion I know of). We'd be disrupting around ten of those camps. The last two were beyond New Vegas, and since Caesar is in or near New Vegas (he's in what he calls "The Fort"), all I'd have to do to destroy those last two camps would be to kill Caesar and his current Legate, Lanius.

To kill both of them would crush the influence Caesar's Legion has now. Like with Talon Company, they may still exist in small numbers, but no longer would they be feared. They'd be shamed forever.

Additionally, I was hoping that, since most of their territories were against them, killing their Centurion masters might trigger a larger scale rebellion. I didn't expect all territories to rebel after I kill their Centurions; a few support the Legion. However, places like D.C would push the Legion back if it tried to rebel again.

There's even evidence in the intel I have of a city in the Mojave called "Freeside". It's the only part of New Vegas that did not fall under the banner of the bull. It's controlled by rebels. Caesar would reward anyone, affiliated with the Legion or not for destroying that rebellion, but he simply can't afford sending what few men he has idle to try and eradicate that threat. Likewise, the rebels can hold Freeside, but they can't afford to send their thin numbers to attack Caesar.

That's where Nikolai and I would meet: Freeside. We had a deadline, too: each of us had half a year to get to Freeside, which meant killing quickly and quietly, and making the trip meant riding nearly endlessly.

If one of us did not show up within 182 days of when we started the trip (today being 17 December 2281), the other would make the attempt on Caesar's life, hopefully with backup from the rebels.

We rode nonstop until about an hour before dawn. From here, we were to split up. Nikolai would take a route North, destroying the leaders of the camps I wrote down for him (he insisted that his Spetsnaz training would keep him on track, but I gave him a map, anyway). I would go a little South, and I'd destroy the camps in my way, as well. I didn't need a paper map, on account of my Pip-Boy and its map properties.

"Okay, stay in touch on radio, Whore," he said. I wordlessly nodded, and I looked at the map on my Pip-Boy.

"Right, your first target is..."

"The nearest camp to us is in Cleaveland, Ohio. Or what was once Ohio."

From some films I've seen involving pre-war Cleaveland, it no doubt looked like crap even before the bombs dropped.

Nikolai was looking at me, waiting for me to tell him where _I_ was headed next.

"Oh! Uhh... my first target now is in Nashville."

Nikolai kept staring. "Listen to me, Whore. If you screw up, I'm not going to be around to hold your hand. If you get caught, you'd do well to give that puny Beretta Tomcat a try on your own head. You do NOT want to be a prisoner to Legionaries."

I didn't flinch. I was actually sort of touched. That was the closest I'd ever gotten to hearing Nikolai say "be careful".

From there, we both went our seperate ways. I decided to ride off for a few hours before taking a break for sleep. Before I even left D.C, I looked back one final time at the place that was once my home.

Just a few hours of riding, and I could be back in Megaton, sleeping in my bed. I could beg Elder Lyons to take me back, and protect D.C from the Legion if they tried to retake it again. As for Nikolai, he could take care of himself... if I wanted to back out.

I spurred Fortitude into a gallop. Destination: Nashville, Tennessee.

End of Chapter

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**10,556 words.**

**Milly being able to see through Dogmeat's eyes is mostly a petty jab at Daniel Dennett. Told you. Weird.**

**This is a very wordy chapter, I know. It's meant to cover a lot of information, though. I'm not exactly a huge fan of this one, but it's a necessary evil.**

**As for Milly's training, I tried to keep it mostly on-par with what I know about sniping. (Favor is a real sniper's term, but I forget the other one, so "Fade" may not be right). As for the horseback riding. I danced around actual lectures from Nikolai on the subject because I don't know the first thing about horseback riding.**

**Thankfully, next chapter should be shorter than this. It covers the death of the Legionary leader in Nashville. Y'all come back now, ya hear?**


	10. Acceptance

**Chapter 9**

**Acceptance**

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**"Whatever happens, let it happen."**

**-Albert King**

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With Fortitude, the trip to Nashville took three weeks. In that time, I quickly learned how much easier it was to hunt wild brahmin if I simply sniped. It was great practice for my next target, too.

I don't mean that my next target was as big as a brahmin. I simply mean that any little bit of training helps.

One day did not pass before I learned something new about Nikolai. He talked to himself when he wandered. How did I know he talked to himself if we split up and were many miles away from each other? I think he may have carried his radio in his back pocket or something, because he butt-dialed me on more than one occasion. I'd listen to his radio signal, and typically I'd hear the horse walking, but sometimes Nikolai would say something, and whether it was him worrying that he didn't pack enough to drink, or if it was his cursing one of his five ex-wives, it was pretty entertaining.

I took to calling these moments "Rascalovisms". Most were totally nonsensical, though sometimes he'd say something strange to himself.

I didn't take much time to admire the scenery as I made my way to Tennessee. Most of the time, I was watching my back. The concentration of hostiles increased the further I went, but the types of hostiles didn't really change.

The scariest part of the trip to Nashville was on my Pip-Boy. I was saddened the moment I saw "Galaxy News Radio" vanish from my radio selections. It meant the end of the land I knew, and the start of a land unknown. The radio station that accompanied me until Tennessee itself was a show called "Integrity". It was similar to GNR: the host delivered news and public service announcements, and he played music, too. The only real difference was his being more popular. His signal was available several states over.

"Hi, this is Caesar of New Vegas doing an _incredible_ Cookie Masterson impression... and this is _You Don't Know Jack_!"

On occasion, GNR would play something called "The Adventures of Herbert "Daring" Dashwood". It was an action show of sorts with Herbert Dashwood (I met him once). Integrity didn't have an action show. Instead, it played a game show that the host (one "Cookie Masterson") referred to as _You Don't Know Jack._

Cookie's public service announcements helped me a lot once I left D.C. I think he knew that I left (or maybe he knew Three Dog), because he made a shout out to me, telling me that I'd start to see additional mutants once I got closer to Nevada. After that, he started a round of _You Don't Know Jack_ between three players that were referred to as "Echo", "Foxtrot", and "Todd" respectively.

His game show was fun to listen to when I was camped for the night, but it wasn't on all the time. After listening to a few episodes before I was out of range of Integrity altogether, I very quickly learned that I didn't know Jack.

I also quickly learned that the worst possible thing to do to Fortitude was to was interrupt when he was trying to eat something. If I was riding him (something I gradually got better at the more I did it), and he decided it was a good time to eat something he might have found before him, I'd have to wait until he was done.

He nearly bit me for trying to seperate him from what he was trying to eat once (I don't remember what exactly he found). Dogmeat growled a warning at him, but he eyed me until I pulled my hand away. He dropped it at that, but his eyes remained on me as if he was daring me to try it again.

That's not to say I didn't teach him a few tricks. As I travelled, I managed to teach him to respond to a whistle. I'd only use it if I was in trouble, separated from him, and needed to escape like, ten minutes ago.

Most of the trip was spent thinking. I regret not spending much of my time thinking of an attack. Like an idiot, I figured it was going to be easy like killing Marcus, but that was only so simple because it was one of the rare occasions that the Legion was caught off-guard.

When I _did_ think about my attack, I considered going loud and trying a head-on approach, because I figured they might expect me to snipe this time. I tossed that idea, because I also worried that they might expect me to do that, too.

So, I opted to snipe again.

That was the conclusion I reached in the several weeks it took me to get to Nashville. I didn't think about what to do if the camp was too heavily guarded, I didn't think of what to do for escape if I botched the attack, I didn't think of how to react to a change in the guard patrol... all of these things were drilled into my head not by Nikolai, but by the Brotherhood of Steel when I became a spy.

In a sense, the burn notice didn't just take away what I needed to function. It really _did_ take my skills.

When I came within view of the camp, I left Fortitude not too far from where I'd try to shoot from. I didn't know what the patrols looked like yet, and by the time I reached them, it was dark.

I thought, for a few moments at least, that I should scout with Dogmeat before I get any closer (by then I was a mile or so off). However, I shrugged it off. I had a ghillie suit if I needed it, right?

So, now a Legionary grunt has a gun to the back of my head, and Dogmeat is frozen to the spot, lest the gun fires.

"Let me ask you something, Profligate. Did you just decide a few weeks ago that slavery was what you wanted out of life?"

I was still. He kicked at my SRS.

"Put it down, toss your pistol, and stand slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them."

I slowly obliged, and I shivered.

"You guys aren't going to kill me?"

"Killing you seems a decent option, but after fighting us... slavery; relenting to Caesar's every whim... it seems a much more... economical punishment for you."

He glanced at Dogmeat, but it was too quick for either of us to make a move. I was summoning up the courage to do what I was about to do (I was already coming up with a plan), and I let down my hair (it was in a ponytail so it didn't bother me while I tried to snipe).

"Your dog will be an excellent mongrel. Once he's trained, we'll march him by the broken spirited slave that will be you so he can growl at you and snap at you. He'll forget you."

"I don't know about that," I said. The likely thing to occur should I be taken into slavery with Dogmeat would be his killing everything that moves save for me at the fort. Still, I'd probably have a slave collar on, and I'd rather not have my head blown off.

He stared at me, and gestured to the camp with his gun. "Come. You're to be paraded before Junius."

After he said that, he called for additional Legionaries to take my weapons, my horse, and my belongings. I was even stripped of most of my clothes, likely to try and break down my morale, but... I was shivering more than I was upset. My spy training makes it difficult to care when someone tries to break your spirit.

At least they let me keep my underwear. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, after all, but I was already irritated, which made me wonder why they let me keep my underwear, which made me wonder why they wanted me as a slave when it would've been easier to kill me, which made me wonder why this "merciful" Legion was considered so dangerous, since I've been shown some. Mercy, that is.

When we finally met Junius, I knew that even if I wasn't caught, I'd have needed to sneak further into the camp in order to get a shot at him. He was by his quarters, and when he spotted me, he was stoic. I'd have expected a "we got you" smirk, but... nothing.

Dogmeat remained with me up to now. I was freezing, and I was holding his goggles because I was to explain what they did to the leader here. I'd use that to my advantage.

I'd also use the fact that they had me parading about in my underwear as an advantage. When we stopped before him, he eyed me up and down.

"So, this is the woman that had the nerve to attack Washington D.C's leader?"

"I didn't attack D.C's leader. You guys didn't have a hold on it yet."

He stared me in the eye.

"Well done, in any case. A man that can be surprised and killed by a woman is not fit to lead the Legion in any way."

He'd regret those words in a few hours.

I put on a sweet smile. "I hear you're going to throw me into slavery for that."

"That's the idea... Bell, why are you still here? Take the mutt to the mongrel tent. Chain him up."

The Legionary that caught me went for Dogmeat. He started growling lowly at the advancing enemy, but the wink I sent in his direction got him to cooperate. He was led away, throwing glances back at me every so often, and then he vanished into a tent.

Junius sent the other Legionary holding me away, and he eyed the goggles. I eyed him up and down.

"What do those do, Profligate?"

"These? Who cares what these do? Let's focus on what I want to do to you."

He stared dully at me. I almost threw up after I said the words, but if I could get him into a bed, he'll lower his guard, and I'll be able to kill him quickly. Then, I'd use the goggles, have Dogmeat find me, we'd get my equipment, my horse, and then escape.

"Are you crazy, or do you think I'm just stupid?"

A little from column A, a little from column B...

I smiled sweetly again. "Come on. Give a girl one final night of happiness before you send her for a life of torment..."

When that didn't work, I turned on the tears. That made him flinch. One Legionary will kill another Legionary if he cries, but if a woman cries, they have absolutely no idea what to do.

The downside is, they have absolutely _no _idea what to do. I was as likely to be smacked as I was to be held.

In this case, neither occurred.

"Slavery in the Legion can be quite comfortable," he said. I shook my head madly while sniffling.

"Please, just one night! Am I not attractive?" I continued. The look on his face said "not like that you aren't", but I could tell he was getting into the idea.

"I am but a helpless lamb!" I said, all the while thinking "I am but the woman that murdered at least seven Legionaries within the past few weeks". I don't know why I said it like that. I guess for some reason it felt like speaking in metaphors like Legionaries are known to do might help seal the deal. By now, I was shivering even more. I knew my charms were doing the trick because he invited me into the tent to warm up.

"Please," I said. "I long for you..."

...to be six feet under.

He shook his head reluctantly.

"I could think of no better way to end my norm than sex..."

...with anybody else on the planet that isn't a Legionary or Nikolai.

He took a step back.

"I'll do anything you'd like me to do to you..."

...and then I'll do something _I'd_ like to do to you, like smother you with a pillow or find a knife and stab you.

I went on like that for a few more minutes, begging him to help me make a poor decision. When it started to look like I was becoming a nuisance, I threw out my final move.

"I'm a virgin!" I said. _That_ sent the goggles to the floor and me to the bed.

I never would've thought that my virginity would save my life from slavery, and merely thinking of the deed caused me to shiver and try to block out the memory. Still, I wasn't out of the heat yet, so I had to push any emotional responses away until I was safe-ish.

All I can say is my first sexual encounter was with someone I thoroughly hated, but it was necessary for me if I was to get out of this. Had I not done what I did, I'd have been forced to hand over the goggles and I'd be taken into custody somewhere else.

It turned out being surrounded by men all the time didn't curb his sexual needs. I'd prefer to leave the actual sex alone (it was not my finest moment, but I'd rather have consentual sex with someone I hated than become a slave and have non-consentual with someone I despised). All I'll really say about it is we ended up doing it three times before he fell asleep.

I was laying still beside him for several minutes until I was certain he was out like a light. Once I was sure he wouldn't wake up on me, I creeped out of the bed, and slowly searched his quarters for a weapon. I managed to find a small knife, and that knife managed to find its mark in his chest five times.

With the deed done, I lay in the bed next to him with my goggles so if anyone peeked in on us, it might look like we were sleeping. I even moved him onto his stomach for good measure, and then I slipped the goggles on after I situated myself.

It really doesn't take much time for the goggles to activate, but even so seeing through Dogmeat's eyes is very realistic. It's almost as if I'm right there with him, and in a sense, I am... or am I? Again, the only reason these things weren't mass-produced in the pre-war world is because they practically order a complete overhaul on all scientific knowledge. That is, science itself is stretched to the limit, and the concept of philosophy ceases to exist.

When I found myself in a room full of supplies, I also tasted a chain in my mouth. Dogmeat had been working on his major issue while I was working on mine, but I didn't think he'd get very far by chewing on the chain.

His teeth were mostly unharmed by the accident (some were knocked out, but were replaced by substitutes that looked just like his natural teeth), but if he kept chewing on the chain, that wouldn't be so anymore. I looked around the room for anything that could be of help, but there was nothing else other than my horse in the tent.

I had to think quickly, because I wasn't sure how long I'd have before Junius was missed. I considered Dogmeat's new appendages. He was bound by a chain wrapped around his front left leg, leaving his unchanged right leg and two rear legs alone. The front left leg was also a robotic appendage, which meant that he could use it through hydraulic action, as was the same with his rear legs. That meant that there was no bone in danger of breaking, and no limit to natural strength that could be spent on his chain. As a cyberdog, his robotic parts had a set limit regarding strength, but no real limit of how long that strength could be exerted.

That is, continuous stress on the chain by his robotic appendages would lead to metal fatigue, and I could free him. I decided to step on the chain with my rear paws, and I pulled the front left as hard as I could. Like I thought, the robotic appendages felt nothing, and after several minutes of continuous pulling at top strength (it was an awkward position that may not have occurred to Dogmeat), the chain finally gave out.

I think it gave out after only a few minutes not only because Dogmeat's now a cyberdog, but also because it spent an unknown amount of time in Nashville, which was known in the post-apocalyptic wasteland as an unpredictable landscape. It could be freezing cold and dry one night, and very hot and humid the next day. The elemental changes are what I blamed for the chain's weakness.

I had him free, but there was still a length of chain on his front left leg. As for Fortitude, he wasn't chained up, likely because the Legion considered him a mostly docile animal. He wasn't reactive when I was taken. All it took to get him ready to move again was Dogmeat being free. Though Fortitude remained silent, I knew he'd wait here for me.

Now, it was a matter of poking my head out the animal tent to look around. I simply used his sense of smell to locate what his brain considered "me" (I found myself, and instictively thought "my human", which made me wonder who Dogmeat thought the master was).

The tent I was now laying in wasn't too far away. It was 50 feet maybe. The problem wasn't the distance that needed to be covered. It was the pattern of patrol I was seeing. It was still dark, so we had some cover, but I knew that trotting out the flaps in the front would be a bad idea, so I walked to the rear of the tent, and sniffed around for any sign of Legionaries watching back there.

There were Legionaries posted behind the tents too, but they weren't in such high concentrations as in the main camp. I was about to risk it and poke my head out under the back of the tent, but Dogmeat's robotic eye activated, and suddenly through it I was seeing infrared.

I didn't bother questioning what else his eye could do at the time. So far, I knew it would glow red during open conflict in an attempt at destroying the will to fight, and I knew he could see in visible light through it, but I wasn't sure if it was used for heat signatures until then. I only hoped he wasn't watching what I was doing earlier, and if he was, I hoped he didn't think less of me for what I had to do to get a shot at freedom.

Through the infrared vision, I was able to see three Legionaries spread out behind the camp. The one nearest to me was facing the tent, so if I poked my head out at that point, there would've been trouble in the form of bullets. I had to wait until he turned and walked a respectable distance off before I dashed quietly out from the tent. There was a slight slope behind the camp and some old debris, and so I hid there, pretending to be a hunk of scrap metal until the Legionaries were clear again.

I had to basically inch my way forward, and at the same time sprint as quickly and efficiently as I could.

It was nearly cause for a small celebration when I made it to the tent, but I still had to find my equipment and clothes. Before taking the goggles off, I looked around at the tents, and it was through Dogmeat's eye that I was able to see my equipment. No, I didn't see it through the infrared vision. It was as if it sensed what I wanted to know and it switched to x-ray.

I made a mental note of where to look for my equipment, and I took the goggles off, once again accidently sending his paws to the top of his head.

Needless to say, when he came to and saw me, he was happy. Well, happy and curious. He eyed me in the bed with the now dead Junius, and I mouthed "it's a long story" to him before getting my underwear, and wrapping some sheets around me so I could stay warm. I even debated smoking a cigarette I saw on his nightstand for any warmth, but I turned it down because I tried smoking once in the vault, and I almost fainted.

The way he eyed me said we needed to talk, and I'd tell him all about what I ended up doing for my freedom, _a__fter_ our lives weren't in danger anymore.

"I have to get my equipment," I whispered to him. I took the small pen knife I used to stab Junius to death with me, and until I had my weapons, armor, and equipment back, the small weapon would be all I'd have against a camp full of Legionaries that would not think twice now of shooting me dead.

I silently poked my head through the rear of the tent to see if I'd find any Legionaries. I kind of wished I had Dogmeat's cyber eye. The only way I'd know now if it was safe or not would be if I was shot in the head or alive a second later.

Once there was no bullet fired, Dogmeat and I snuck out from under the flaps and crept along in the shadows. It didn't make us perfectly invisible, but until I had my equipment, I had to do everything I could to avoid being caught.

Though sneaking my way to my equipment would only take about ten minutes if done very carefully, I tried to cut it down to seven or so in the interest of warm clothes, three pairs of socks, and shoes. I couldn't feel my fingers or toes anymore, which made sneaking that much harder. Shooting might be tough until I warmed my hands up again. I made a point to ride as fast as I could for as long as I could, and then start a fire and spend a few hours warming up and resting.

I made plans that far in advance in the interest of morale. It's better to think "When I succeed" instead of "If I succeed".

When I finally ducked into my tent, I found one Legionary watching my weapons. He saw me, and was about to shout out, but he found doing so very difficult when Dogmeat attached his jaws to his windpipe. The Legionary's, that is.

After that happened, I put on as many clothes as I could reasonably manuever in. I even put on a warm winter hat I'd found while on the way to Nashville. It wasn't my color, but beggars can't be choosers. I even wore my ghillie suit for the heat I might build up.

Once I was dressed again, I spent a moment hugging myself and doing whatever I could to warm up. Post-Apocalyptic Nashville could get _freezing_.

I had to stop and get the rest of my equipment once I heard a Legionary call out "Junius is dead! The Profligate! Find her!"

I quickly made sure I had everything I needed, and I snuck out the back of the tent. I walked out about a hundred yards, loaded my Steyr AUG (and you thought I got rid of it), and whistled for Fortitude as clearly as I could.

Dogmeat and I stayed down, and it wasn't long before I heard gunfire and rapid running. Fortitude galloped down to my side, I got up, and we were all being shot at by the Legionaries.

I returned fire for a few moments, mounted Fortitude, and we were out of there. He was lucky not to have taken any bullets (as was I), but a round bounced off Dogmeat's robotic hind-leg, and one lucky shot hit my Steyr AUG and broke it. I had no way of repairing it this far from home, so I took the ammunition (on the off-chance that I might find a use for it), and dumped the gun that I found in Vault 87 from horseback, all while being fired upon by a now distant enemy.

Leaving behind my Steyr AUG was like leaving behind a good friend. It was my weapon of choice for four years, after all. Still, I had no chance of recovering it. My main concern was leaving the area.

Once I was sure I wasn't being followed, I continued galloping in the direction of my next target. My memories of what occurred that night suddenly flooded back to me, and I weeped.

End of Chapter

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**4,219 words.**

**This chapter was about a paragraph and a half away from an "M" Rating. What happened between Milly and Junius is meant to show just how far she's willing to go to get what she wants. Once again, Miss 101 is out making Daddy and Cord proud.**

**This chapter is named "Acceptance", and Milly doesn't mention much of what she now feels about Cord's death, so it remains true to grief. Acceptance is widely described as "nearly devoid of feeling".**

**I think this is the first and last time Milly's going to... "play video games" with one of her targets. Once is a statement about determination. Twice makes a lemon.**

**Next chapter follows Nikolai, the ex-Spetsnaz sociopath that butt-dials and enjoys killing.**


	11. The Power of the Dragunov

**Chapter 10**

**The Power of the Dragunov**

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**"Heroes may not be braver than anyone else. They're just brave for five minutes longer."**

**-Ronald Regan**

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In 2277 while the Lone Wanderer was in a coma, someone began targeting Brotherhood caravans transporting essentials to the Brotherhood of Steel (the attacker never engaged water caravans). Every attack followed a similar "routine". The victims were killed by a Russian sniper rifle, and the caravans were always destroyed after the protection was dealt with. That was where the "routine" ceased, however. As far as a "routine" goes, it wasn't much of one.

Heightened security scared off the attacker. He was never found and brought to justice, but he was eventually identified, and placed on the Brotherhood of Steel's 10 Most Wanted list for terrorism.

Nikolai Rascalov's first target was in Cleveland, Ohio. Unlike the woman he allied himself with, Rascalov spent less of his travelling time on the radio and more of it drinking.

That's not to say he didn't plan. He did. However, after being a sniper for situations not unlike this one for so long, he had a routine to follow: Never be routine.

He had a playbook of plans in his head for infiltrating, shooting, and fleeing. These plans didn't always guarentee his success, but they managed to keep him alive into 2281, so he saw no reason to stray from them. To avoid predictability, he'd randomize which plan he would use.

In his younger days, he'd also take the plan, the place in which it was to be enacted, and he'd think of as many ways for it to go wrong as he could. Once that was done, he'd come up with solutions to those issues, and he'd prepare himself for as many surprises as he could.

And then he started drinking.

Nikolai quickly became nearly functionless without alcohol. In the beginning, he'd botched a few sniping attempts and nearly got killed, both by the enemy and by his team. He had to be sent to rehab, and it was there that he sobered up again for a few months before falling off the wagon again.

His alcoholism did not change him. Nikolai was widely considered an ass even before he started drinking. The five divorces he had in the last decade only made him worse. He'd killed his second wife for having an affair, and he even attempted to kill the man she cheated on him with.

Nikolai didn't know at the time that the man she was cheating on him with had two black-belts. The angry former husband woke up in the hospital with four broken ribs, a concussion, and a fractured arm. He didn't bother Vlad again.

Rather than hunt to sustain himself like his companion miles away did, Nikolai often chose robbery instead. He'd take what he wanted, but if he was robbing a civilian (something he rarely did; typically he chose to rob raiders because he preferred a fight, and killing civilians was generally frowned upon by all he knew), he'd leave without killing if the victim cooperated.

When he finally reached his target's camp, he stopped his horse behind some debris. There was no grass around him, and as such there was no reason to try the ghillie suit. Where Tennessee's weather could vary in extreme ways, wasteland Ohio typically had one temperature: Cold.

Nikolai decided to conduct his attack while wearing a winter coat with an animal fur collar and sleeves. He threw a winter hat over his head and put on a pair of leather gloves.

Under his shirt he wore armor that he lifted off someone in the Capital Wasteland: an M-1951 field jacket.

His field jacket wasn't much as far as great armor goes. It might protect him against low caliber weapons, but the gunshot would still hurt, and he'd likely not be dealing with handguns if he screwed up.

Even in the face of his armor issues, Nikolai enjoyed the hunt. He didn't only enjoy killing those of evil nature. He'd kill anybody if it was in his best interest, and if it was in his best interest, it was something he usually liked to do. Many considered him a psychopath, but he considered himself a man from the pre-war world, which was a world that had "video games" involving killing as a regular action.

He was silent as he infiltrated the camp. Sneaking behind enemy lines came naturally to him. It was always a slow going for him, though. In great expanses of heavily guarded enemy grounds, Nikolai would take days to reach his target, sometimes taking from sunrise to sunset to crawl thirty meters.

That was in very heavily guarded camps, though. Having arrived at the camp during the night, Nikolai had a window of time to sneak close to his target. His coat was brown and his pants dark green, so in the dark night he was difficult to see.

He even showed restraint that bothered him deeply. He didn't kill anybody he did not need to kill. In the past, Nikolai nearly botched a few infiltrations because he decided to kill someone that did not need to die.

He knew that being caught by the Legion would not end well. He'd hide behind boulders, and when he got close enough, he'd even hide in their tents, often ending up just feet away from sleeping Legionaries. Staying away from unnecessary killing soured his mood, but he was now so close that he could put the suppressor on his Dragunov. He did so inside a tent full of sleeping Legionaries, but a bottle caught his peripheral vision: a bottle of his favorite brand of vodka: Vod Kanockers.

He might show restraint by sparing those that did not need to die this time around, but to get him to ignore a perfectly good bottle of vodka? Inconceivable. Nikolai looked at the Legionary whose nightstand it rested on, and quickly swapped the full bottle with his empty one. He even pocketed a few rounds for his Dragunov.

Many criticized him for his drink of choice, because it supported the Russian Stereotype. His response? "I don't care about American Stereotype. This is a classic."

From the tent, he proceeded along the shadows, expertly weaving in and out of tents as needed, but using shadows mostly for his cover. Mongrels would bark wildly at him, but then they would bark at anybody, and so the poor training of the dogs lulled the Legionaries into a false sense of security. If they bark all the time, why waste a moment or two checking up on them?

Nikolai ducked into a storage tent across from the tent of the Centurion leading the base, Brutus. Before risking even preparing himself for the attack, Nikolai gave himself a rough escape route. His suppressor may not be totally effective from the short range, but it would beat going loud. He figured on sneaking his way out if he wasn't made, and shooting his way out if he was.

Only after he had a mental map back to his horse did he cut a few small holes in the tent's fabric. He'd not push the rifle under the tent. Firing through the small opening would better hide his perch. It was a trick he used in the Moscow riots in buildings, and the technique hid his report nicely.

He quietly moved a large wooden box to act for stability when he fired, and he practically kept one eye on his back to ensure nobody intruded. From that moment on, his job was to wait.

So he waited.

He was waiting for two hours before he got his chance. The Centurion that was his target left his tent for whatever reason: midnight snack, bathroom break, rape a slave, kill an incompetent Legionary... it didn't make a difference to Nikolai. All that mattered was the hunt, and stalking was one of the steps to success.

The report of his weapon was greatly masked by both suppressor and choice of sniping perch, but the kill still acted as a cause for alarm to the Legionaries.

"The profligate! She's here!"

"Brutus is down! He's hit!"

"Where did that come from?"

"There! I think it came from in there!"

Nikolai did not stick around long enough for the Legionaries to enter the tent. By the time they made heads or tails of what was going on, he was already sneaking through the shadows as quickly as he could.

The Legionaries now carried torches and flashlights, which would render his hiding places useless if he tarried. As he tried to escape, he wondered how the Brotherhood Whore was doing. Did she reach her target yet, or would he have to do that for her, too?

"There! By the hills!"

Gunfire interrupted his thoughts, but he did not bother firing in return. Perhaps the Legionaries expected the profligate to bumble if she tried to snipe from a covert position, but this assassination was not performed by the woman per se (she did have a hand in it, or else Nikolai would have no reason to kill the Legionaries). The attack was calculated; precise.

It was done by an expert.

Sure enough, the Legionaries assumed that the woman from Vault 101 was getting some help. They would not be so careless again. This attack, however, occurred before her first solo attack. Nikolai's kill would only serve to hurt her, and in the end, both would end up causing difficulty, at least in some sense, for each other.

Still, as Nikolai mounted his horse and rode off, he glanced back at the direction of the camp, and couldn't help but mutter the phrase he always said to himself after what he considered a successful sniper's kill.

"Good hunting."

End of Chapter

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**1,594 words. Does anyone even read this?**

**The original order of past chapters went 'Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, The Power of the Dragunov, and Acceptance." I decided that, in order for this grief thing to really work, it would have to go "Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance", or else it would lose impact. We'll be seeing another Nikolai chapter next, but from there on it'll likely alternate between he and Milly, until they get to Freeside.**

**Did you get the vodka brand joke?**

**Next chapter follows Nikolai on his next attack. After that, we see what Milly's up to. And Cord comes back as a zombie and says "What's up?"**

**I may omit the Cord part.**


	12. The Demon Drink

**Chapter 11**

**The Demon Drink**

* * *

**"He who fails to prepare prepares to fail."**

**-Old English Proverb**

* * *

A trail of bodies was now behind the man as he rode for Chicago. Why? He wasn't forced into acting for his own safety, it wasn't a botched robbery...

He ran out of alcohol. The only other thing he could think of to amuse himself until he came across another drink would be killing other people. He loved to take the lives of other people. It was for that reason that he agreed to help the Brotherhood Whore. He couldn't care less about the Legion killing her friend. As far as he was concerned, the friend shouldn't have stuck around for so long, because the friend only drew the story of the Lone Wanderer out more.

His next target was a Centurion named Vaughn in a camp in Chicago. Nikolai knew that Chicago was once known as "the Windy City", and presently, it lived up to its name: there were very few days where the wind in the Chicago Wasteland was not howling this way and that; howling like a few sick hounds that needed to be put down. Though he knew that the wind would play a role in his next attack, he was more concerned with his sobriety than the assassination.

In the few weeks of nearly nonstop riding it took him to get to Chicago, Nikolai actually went into withdrawal symptoms before he found a bottle that was not touched yet.

Dimitri had a saying: If Nikolai goes dry, the entire world may die.

As he rode for Chicago, he'd occasionally get the update from his companion miles away. She'd try to get him to talk to her about his personal life or what he liked to do. Why she tried to get him to open up was not easy to figure out. Nikolai knew that many considered her a "saint", and Three Dog frequently called her the "Last, best hope of humanity", but he was never kind to her, and he never intended on a friendship.

As a matter of fact, he even briefly considered killing her at the end, too, but he scrapped the idea because her dog was just one bullet away from killing him. Instead, he decided that he'd help her on her mission because he enjoyed the hunt very much, and then he'd go his own way and never talk to her again.

Only then, if she should try to find him, would he kill her, and to hell with her dog.

So, when she tried to get him to talk to her, he typically simply reported on his progress, and then stopped talking to her. He couldn't turn the radio off for fear of an important message.

She never gave up. It didn't take him long to realize that she knew what he was doing, and she was now taking it upon herself to irritate him. She'd only stop if he said he was nearing a camp.

He'd tried to trick her into keeping quiet by saying he was nearing a camp fairly often, but she was smarter than that. The girl had mapped out how long the trips should take between camps given a constant speed, time, etc. She essentially knew where he was at any moment, which made him wonder what she did with her spare time.

Nikolai wouldn't admit it to himself, but he found himself... hating the Brotherhood Whore the more she called for him. He thought he'd hit rock bottom, at least regarding her, and perhaps he did... but her incessant calling only served as a way to make him begin to dig through rock bottom. He disliked her when he met her, but he didn't openly resent her until she started bothering him as she did.

As far as a civilian was concerned, she was as sweet as could be, and many in the Capital Wasteland would kill to be able to talk with her, but Nikolai was not "many in the Capital Wasteland". As far as he was concerned, they were not friends, and only loosely could he consider himself in an alliance with her. After a few weeks, her calls became less frequent, and she seemed less playful regarding he.

Nikolai's random attacks on people left him with fewer than twenty rounds of ammunition for his Dragunov. To compensate, he now started looking for ammunition for the weapon.

He had plenty of bullets for his sidearm, but he preferred killing with his sniper rifle. It gave his murders a predator-prey taste. With his sidearm, a murder was a murder. His obsession with hunting made Dragunov ammunition become a high priority.

He was fortunate enough to catch the issue with enough ammunition to get to New Vegas, if he remained a ghost. As he rode, he made sure to only kill who needed to be killed until he could find more ammunition.

When he got to his target, the weather had already deteriorated. He reached the camp midday, and he couldn't risk waiting around for night or for the storm to pass. It was raining heavily and the wind was blowing. Nikolai didn't like his odds of getting into the camp quietly, so he opted to snipe from long distance.

He spent a few minutes searching for his target through the scope of his weapon. He was about a quarter mile away from the man he was next to kill. The rain interfered with his vision and he was looking up quite a bit to make sure nobody snuck up on him.

He found his target walking around, talking to a few Legionaries in tents (Nikolai glanced at the supplies on his horse, not the least of which being a tent). The Centurion seemed irritable, but he wasn't staying still long enough for Nikolai to get a decent shot. Nikolai had sniped in this sort of weather before, but not while in the middle of a vodka shortage.

He spent several minutes trying to adjust his aim, hoping to kill the Centurion by a "lead"- aiming a little in front of the target, so the target essentially walks into the bullet's trajectory. To do so would allow him a moment's surprise- enough to get on the horse and flee.

His scope snapped to a few horses in a makeshift stable, and he hoped that his shot would not miss.

Slowly returning his crosshairs to his target, he aimed ahead of the man, hoping to lead the target and compromise for the weather and wind at the same time. He wiped the water off his scope for it to be quickly replaced, and he took a few deep breaths. He felt his heart beating in his chest, and he squeezed the trigger between beats.

_Bang!_

The shot went wide, and Vaughn was instantly weaving from side to side. He pointed at Nikolai and ran to a horse, and a few Legionaries fired at him and took cover.

Nikolai, having left his horse behind a few boulders, decided to hide behind them as well. Bullets snapped at the boulder and he fired blindly with his sidearm for some kind of covering fire.

Mongrels started barking, and Nikolai growled to himself.  
"That's either a dog, or my first ex-wife... ah, the bitch..."

Nikolai was promptly knocked onto his back by a mutt, and he managed to grab ahold of the dog's neck, keeping its teeth from his throat. Legionaries and other mongrels were running uphill at him. Having pocketed a few grenades off one of the men he killed miles back, He held the dog at bay with his arm, pulled the pin, and stuffed the explosive down its throat. He kicked the doomed dog off of him and into the path of the charging Legionaries.

The explosion left no trace but a spread of gore regarding the dog it had been lodged in. Shrapnel and close range managed to kill one other Legionary, and wound others still. Nikolai picked up his weapon and mounted his horse, determined to chase down the fleeing Vaughn.

In order to save time, Nikolai weaved through the camp, deliberately galloping through Legionaries, sending them in the way of others. His disorienting movements saved both he and his horse from any bullet wounds, and in his half minute or so riding through the camp, he tried to kill the horses in the stable so he would not be followed. He opened fire on them with his pistol, but the attacks only killed one and the remaining three were unharmed.

He didn't have time to go back and finish them, obviously. He spurred his horse to gallop, following the trail Vaughn's horse made in the mud. The rain continued to pour, and visibility was worsening.

Nikolai could not see Vaughn. The only direction he got was the prints of the horse in the mud just feet before him. As he ran, the weather deteriorated further. The rain and wind distracted him, and he soon found no way to see where he was really going.

The only thing that comforted him was the idea that the Legionaries behind him had no idea where to go, either.

He slowed his horse a little, managing to hear a horse in the distance. The sky lit up for a second, and Nikolai could barely make out the silhouette of a horse with a man still fleeing. The sound of thunder assisted in sending his horse into a gallop again. Nikolai drew his handgun, trying to will his eyesight to cut through the weather and give him a moment of clear visibility.

A bullet whizzed by his head, but he wasn't sure where it came from. There was no indication that his prey had stopped fleeing, but he felt that the same bolt of lightning that helped him helped _his_ pursuers. He turned quickly and fired back in response.

His pursuers were really a pursuer. He wasn't able to see the return fire so well, but it gave him a rough idea of where to fire. He shot five more rounds in the general direction of his pursuer, and the next bolt of lightning informed him of his success, for he caught a glimpse of the Legionary falling from his horse. Nikolai didn't credit skill with the dispatched Legionary, because luck is not synonymous with skill.

All the while he'd been listening closely for Vaughn, and glancing forward every so often to ensure he stayed on track. Another lightning bolt gave away the silhouette of the horse, and Nikolai finally sped up to get to one side.

Before he could bring up his handgun, Nikolai found himself falling from his horse with Vaughn fighting for the gun. Both landed and rolled over each other in the mud, trying to get control of the weapon. Finding themselves with a stalemate, both Predator and Prey tossed the gun into the mud, and they stood again, eyeing each other.

Nikolai was trained extensively in Sambo- Russian hand-to-hand combat in the absence of weaponry. He'd practiced it for ten years, and most of his training was unneeded, for when he botched an attack, he'd typically never get a weapon out of both his and his enemy's hand.

He wasn't sure what Vaughn knew, but he found himself fighting defensively. He had a knife, but he would not make a grab for it until he had Vaughn on the ground. He blocked as many attacks by his prey as he could, but was not spared a few hits to his face and torso. He was more interested in protecting his neck and heart. Though he rarely engaged in close-quarters combat, Nikolai was known to aim for the throat when on the offensive in it.

He and Vaughn fought in pulses. They'd charge into each other for a few seconds at a time, and then they'd get back and circle. The process would repeat itself for several minutes, and the rain just kept on falling.

Neither the Russian nor the Legionary said a word to each other while they fought. The Legionary felt it unnecessary to say a word to his aggressor, and Nikolai didn't see the point in talking to prey if he didn't need to.

He and Vaughn charged each other again, and the fight went to the floor. Nikolai drew his blade, and the fight ensued. They rolled over each other, both trying to influence the blade in their own way. Nikolai stopped rolling and stopped trying to stab at Vaughn. He sliced at his eyes for a momentary opening, and quickly drove the blade into his prey's chest.

For a few moments, Nikolai kept the blade in the man's heart, watching through the rain, dirt, and blood for his eyes to glaze. The last thing Vaughn was ever supposed to see was Nikolai, panting, waiting to see him exhale his final breath.

Nikolai's knife was in his chest. It went in, and it went in deep. However, his aim was a little off. Rather than hitting the heart or otherwise important blood vessels, the knife hit little to nothing. Vaughn's hand shot to Nikolai's, clutching the knife, and Nikolai's eyes shot to the hand on his.

His eyes started to wear an expression of pain, and the expression was worse and worse as Vaughn's grip tightened. Nikolai became totally focused on the hand, trying to free himself from the grip. It was a blunder like this that let Vaughn throw a punch and knock Nikolai off of him.

Nikolai landed on his back, and Vaughn glanced at the knife in his chest. It was serious, but if he was careful, he could have it removed and be treated, assuming it wasn't plugging an artery or some such vessel.

He could've left. Nikolai was dazed momentarily from the attack, and he was essentially stunned by his target's ability to stand still. When the would-be assassin opened his eyes again, Vaughn stood over him with the knife still embedded in his chest. He fell to his knees and for a moment, Nikolai thought he was dead...

...and then a big hand slammed down on his throat and blocked his airway.

Nikolai's extensive Spetsnaz training gave him various methods to escape from such a grip. Nikolai tried to find a pressure point in Vaughn's wrist, but the mud made the grip slick and he wasn't able to do so. He tried kneeing Vaughn repeatedly, but the man was being held up by blood that, at this point, was likely mostly adrenaline. None of Nikolai's attacks were useful.

He kept gagging and kept prying at the grip on his neck, and he started to see spots. He found himself growing weaker. Was this really how his story was going to end? Would his body be found the next day, half buried in the mud? Would it be months, maybe years until he was found?

He couldn't let death take him here. Every fiber that made Nikolai Nikolai said no. With his consciousness fading, he eyed Vaughn as well as he could, trying to look for hints at any weakness. He considered the knife, and his hand shot to it, and he pulled.

Blood started rushing from the wound, but Vaughn wasn't going to let go. Nikolai took the knife again, and with his final moments of consciousness, drove it back into the prey's chest.

This time, Vaughn's grip loosened, and he fell dead onto Nikolai. Nikolai took in a few deep breaths of air and chased away the white spots. He pushed the body off of his and pulled the knife free again, holding it to the pouring rain to wash it off.

The man very rarely smiled. He might smile if he respected someone (and he typically respected people who didn't bother him, or who he killed), but this wasn't one of those times. Nikolai didn't like the Brotherhood Whore, but he hated the Legion. Until the girl came along, he hated them in a passive manner. He concerned himself more with those close to home, knowing that attacking the Legion on his own would be suicide. He knew the only way to disorient Legionaries even remotely was to attack from two sides of their territories. It was the only way to keep them guessing.

His desire for the hunt dwarfed his odds with the enemy, however, and he found himself considering Caesar's Legion the sheep to his wolf more often than not, while acknowledging the fact that sometimes sheep bite.

Nikolai whistled for his horse to come after retrieving his handgun, and in the middle of a clap of thunder mounted the beast and looked over his shoulder at the dead man.

"Good hunting."

End of Chapter

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**2,771 words. I think this is the halfway point of the story.**

**Sniping attempts that are successful will likely make shorter chapters. When an attempt is botched, expect the chapter to draw out a little more such as now. Nikolai is due to screw up a few times just like Milly (worse than this), and Milly is to successfully kill a target unseen a few times as well.**

**The reason this chapter took so long is because I was without power for about a week. I just got it back today, so I finished up this chapter and away we go.**

**Next chapter covers Milly's next attempt. **


	13. Maxwell's Silver Hammer

**Chapter 12**

**Maxwell's Silver Hammer**

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**"If the Army and the Navy**

**Ever look on Heaven's scenes,**

**They'll find the streets are guarded**

**By United States Marines."**

**-Unknown**

* * *

I've always wanted to leave D.C, but I wouldn't do so without company. It was as if I was held back. This feeling was both before I made connections and after. It was always a part of me. I'd try every so often, both with and without bonds between myself and others just to leave my home. Every time I'd turn back. There was always something missing.

I eventually concluded that I wouldn't see the world beyond my home without company. I didn't feel like I could take in or appreciate the beauty of new land and unfamiliar territory without someone with me. Then, I finally had companionship. I had Cord, the young man that might have been the luckiest radiation victim on the face of the Earth, a man that I thought I knew, a group that I thought had the best interests of mine and my own at heart, and most of all...

Milly.

Cord was killed, her father died, the group cared little for us, but Milly was still here.

So when she broke down into tears while we fled the camp of funny dressed men that nearly cost us our lives, I had to show her that I was here for her.

I knew what she ended up doing to get what she wanted. It was an act that, for humans, was meant to be reserved for a lover. Milly shared no love for her targets, and wanted to save herself for the one she wanted to be with.

She had to sacrifice one ideal in order to save both her life, my life, and quite possibly, the lives of all in our world.

Fortitude stopped moving of my command and I bit down on her pants leg to try to get her off his back.

I refused to leave her side for even a second while she tried to put the incident behind her.

..."Put the incident behind her". Am I a bad companion for thinking that something such as what she did for her freedom could be put behind her so quickly? Am I worse still for thinking that it could be put behind her at all?

I felt a pang of fear again. What happened came very near to rape. I fear for her well being. What happened can change someone. I feared her becoming withdrawn from me, or worse, becoming a bad person, or worse still, becoming Nickel-Eye.

It became apparent to me while I was in thought that she was hugging me now. I wasn't crying until I realized she was hugging me. I was more metal than dog now. I could feel very little of her touch, and that my shiny eye wouldn't shed tears only made me cry more.

The horse, though very withdrawn, was gracious enough to give us time together. He patiently and quietly waited a few feet away, always prepared to continue on the road.

We didn't get back on the road that day. Instead, we set up camp in the middle of nowhere and were quiet.

While we sat by the fire Milly tended, she listened to her radio. Here, wherever we were, there was a limited selection. There was a radio station dedicated exclusively to white noise called "KCUF Pressing Issues", likely too far in one direction or the other to be of any service to us right now. The only other choice was a station called "Big Brother". That was the actual name. Milly read both stations aloud, and when the former didn't work, we turned to the latter.

It was a similar station to the one the bad tin men had before we made them blow up. Essentially, it spent it's lecture spouting nonsense about restoring peace at long last. It claimed to have humanity's best interests at hand, and so too believed that humanity needed to be protected from itself.

I didn't listen too closely to the station, but the last thing the host said (his name was Andrew Vidic) was "The father of understanding guides us" or something. I don't know who the father of understanding is, but the wasteland we were currently in wasn't doing too well, so I figured the station was full of it.

The man wasn't referring to God. Midway through the broadcast (I remember this part), he said his group believed in no God. Then that group essentially went on to belittle religious belief with an obsession towards "reality" that bordered on... religious belief.

That station didn't even have any music after news/propoganda. Though it was turned on by Milly in an attempt at helping her stress levels, it only bothered her even more. She even considered trying to talk to Nickel-Eye again, but she decided against it.

So we continued for a fortnight in this fashion, making enough progress that the day wasn't a total waste, but still taking longer breaks. The distance between the previous target and the next was large.

No, I'm not suggesting we made the trip in the span of fourteen days. It took longer than that (a bit over three weeks, I think).

During that time, "Pressing Issues" came into focus for us, and it was a good station, but that's not the thing that we paid most of our attention to.

She lost her appetite from the day we escaped that camp, but she didn't openly start feeling very ill until the second week, and she didn't start throwing up until then, either. She had extensive medical knowledge from her time in the Vault, and though I made attempts at showing my interest in what the problem was, she told me it was nothing; that the food we ate the night before didn't sit well with her or something. I knew that wasn't true, because she didn't eat enough to get that sick.

I knew she knew what was really wrong, because of the look of horror she had on her face. We rode, she practiced with her weapons, and we made progress, but it seemed like the look never left her face. From morning until night for a week after she started showing signs of illness, it seemed like the expression on her face was always that same look of shock.

About me and travelling: I never had an issue running around all day, because at one point in my life I was essentially a pack mule. My first human had no Brahmin to carry his junk (a brahmin being the mode of transport of choice in D.C for both people and supplies alike, but apparently cost a lot more money than the horse did), so if I was used to running across D.C quickly while carrying a good portion of whatever he found, I could run across the world without anything on my back if I had to.

I used to think that Milly would be impressed with my endurance, but she attributed it mainly to my being mostly shiny now. Perhaps it is the reason, in part. I don't know.

The experience still bothers me. Nearly dying, that is. It wasn't that it hurt that bothered me (it hurt for a few moments, and then I felt outside myself for a while, until I woke up as I am now). It was the fact that I was going to fail my promise to Milly. I swore to protect her with my life, and I was going to die in a flying machine crash because of a man's bumbling.

So, while I was running beside she and the horse one of those days, the latter and I had a bit of a conversation.

"What's that look on your face?"

I eyed the horse while we ran.

"She considers me over-protective, and Cord did while he was alive, too, but... since his death, I've been watching over Milly..."

I paused a moment, and then continued after finding appropriate words.

"...well, before his death, I was watching over Milly like a hawk. After it, I was watching over Milly like two hawks. But, said hawks are both mostly shiny now, and one of their eyes is funny. Also, since these hawks are shiny, they cannot fly effectively. The weight of their new bodies would weigh them down very much so, and they'd hit the ground with a lot of force, probably..."

"...what the hell are you talking about?"

"I don't know, I'm just worried about her. Just... keep running."

Our trip continued in a matter like that. I'd converse a little with the horse, try to get something, anything out of Milly, but Fortitude was detached most of the time and Milly was... Milly.

She could be detached, too, but never from me. If something bothered her, I was always the first to know (at least in the time that I'd known her and chosen her as my human). That she'd deflect my stares and say it was nothing disturbed me.

The new target was in a place called "Dallas", and it seemed like the closer we got, the more frequently we'd run into trouble. No, we didn't run into many Legionaries on the way there, but we ran into mutants of all shapes and sizes.

Super Mutants were one of our constant threats, and it was through defending herself from them that Milly lost a lot of ammunition for her rifle. I don't think she had fifteen rounds left by the time we reached the camp.

Though news of our exploits were spreading throughout the wastes, we continued to avoid busy settlements. Every so often we'd go into small towns for a few supplies, information, or if we were sick of sleeping in the open (Fortitude came with a tent that could house Milly and I, and some of our supplies, but little else). Even in those instances, we'd do what we needed, and leave quietly. A rumor started going around that Milly had been killed in the flying machine crash, and her ghost was seeking revenge on the Legion.

Rebellions, as we expected, were started shortly after the assassinations so far. In Tennessee, the Legion was fighting a losing battle against rebels, and in Chicago, they were in a stalemate with rebels. We knew not to expect such acts from some of the territories, as some were Legion loyalists. Dallas was one such territory, so we all had the good sense to avoid any major settlements in the state we were in (I think Milly called it "Texas").

Dallas' camp wasn't located in the city itself, but rather at the top of a tall hill, likely a homage to the idea that the Legion sees all.

We could've simply rode through Dallas and headed straight for the bald man himself. Come to think of it, we didn't have to kill anybody save for those men in self defense, but this wasn't a mission of such a trivial matter as revenge alone.

Milly had a vendetta against Caesar (the bald man). If disorganizing the men controlling his other territories would bother him, we'd do it. I wondered briefly what he was thinking of Milly right now. He probably thought she got lucky, assuming he heard what happened last; how she was nearly caught.

She only seemed to get more distant from me while we rode for the camp. I found myself up on some nights without a chance for sleep, for fear of what Milly might become.

We weren't feeling so great about this attempt when a Legionary approached us, and said that the very man she was to kill (a man named Maxwell) wanted to speak with her.

He was with a group of other Legionaries, and though we weren't forced, Milly must've decided that going along with this request might be easier than sneaking into the camp, so we obliged to meet with him inside his camp. In order to do so, Milly was permitted to keep her weapons, and Fortitude followed with me. As long as the weapons she brought stayed out of her hands, she would not be harmed.

Additionally, I was also to remain by her side at all times, which suited me just fine, because I had no intention of leaving her side anyway.

All around the Legionary camp, stools, tables, weapon stands, and other such constructs scattered the ground. No, not so many that it was impossible to move, and not so many that it called attention to itself at every point, but there were enough pieces of furniture out of the ordinary to remind me something Milly mentioned while reading some of the intel she had on this target.

He made a hobby of building, and as the intel suggested, was also the least likely to make good decisions (bolstering that assumption was the fact that he requested Milly's presence, and at the same time, allowed her to keep her weaponry).

He wasn't a very tall man. Milly was about a head bigger than he was, and she's only barely 5' 5". He wasn't tall, and he didn't look very talented, either. I overheard a Legionary, while we were walking, saying that the only reason Maxwell had the title of Centurion at all was because his father and the bald man were great friends.

When he saw us approach, he grinned an ugly grin.

"One-oh-One! It's about time you showed up!"

He looked at the men that led us to him and his grin vanished. He waved them off with one hand, and turned about, beckoning us to follow.

"I've been imagining this meeting for a long time. Have you?"

"In my version of it, I'm staring at you through my scope, and you're choking to death on your life blood. Is that how you imagined it?"

He laughed sourly. "I can't say it is, no."

All was silent for a moment. We kept walking, and the Legionaries kept staring.

"Why am I here? Slavery? You shouldn't have let me keep my weapons if that's the case."

"I want to talk about it, but I wasn't intending on us fighting, or making you a slave."

"Then what do you want?"

I looked up at Milly, and saw her eyeing a silver hammer in the man's back pocket. The stare wasn't long, because he whirled around to her without warning and kept talking.

"Well, for one thing, I wanted to meet the harbinger of death for the Enclave, and for another thing, I want to strike a truce with you."

"Peace does not come cheap if I hold your name to a hit list."

His smile weakened for a moment, but it flared right back up again.

"No problem! No problem! You'll love what my deal is."

"Your diplomacy does not interest me. You'd better get to the point."

"Right. Well, you and I certainly agree that the best thing for this world is peace."

Milly crossed her arms while she walked.

"I certainly think that, but I don't know about you."

"Believe it or not, that's what the Legion is all about: peace, above all things. Necessity, calculations, competence. These things drive us, much like they drive you. We only seek peace through different methods."

"You seek peace through severe punishment to those who think differently than you. I seek peace through the destruction of people like you."

"That is why you're steering wrong. Come back to us, One-oh-One. We both believed the same thing once. Didn't you realize that?"

"I never believed that conformity was the only road to peace. That's on you. Now, tell me about this "deal" of yours, or I'll make you eat a bullet."

"Join us! We are impressed with your audacity. Most who threaten the Legion do so over a radio, and when we find them, they are all talk and no fight... You, however... You're unique. Canonical babbling is not enough for you. You don't stop until blood has fallen. You punish those who you think defy you. You are a Legionary."

Milly stared at the back of his head while he walked and talked.

"Join you? You killed my best friend. You view me as a liability-"

"No, Caesar does! Caesar is the one that ordered the attack, and when the powers that be make a command, you'd better fill it."

"Why should I even listen to this anymore?"

"You're like me. You know more than the average wanderer. You, much like I, know that the ends justify the means. Peace must be achieved."

He whirled around to my Milly again.

"The death of your pet was awful. He knew his place. He knew who his master was. We have deathclaws to train. You can have your friend back. Just accept the offer. Become a Legionary. It's the best course of action here, One-oh-One. Think about it: join the Legion, get income, be the very source of fear among your enemies, live in a comfortable setting... keep the weak down."

Milly stared blankly.

"The saying is 'the meek shall inherit the earth'."

"We intend to fix that saying. Join the Legion, and become history itself. Become a legendary that dwarfs the guardians."

The way she eyed him... it seemed like she was going to say yes. I knew the next thing out of her mouth wouldn't be 'no'. She looked down at me, and I willed my eyes to tell her how much against this consideration I was.

They stared at each other for a moment or two, and Maxwell suddenly whirled around again and continued walking.

"You're thinking. I get it. You need some time, that's all. Get back to me with an answer!"

He walked into his tent, and it was only then that I noticed the hammer she was holding behind her back.

Upon his entry into the tent, I remembered once again what his hobby was. Maxwell found a passion in building. Milly used his hammer for something else.

She made sure that grey matter was leaking from his skull after the second hit. The attack wasn't easy on her, though. No, I don't mean that she liked this scum and found it difficult in that sense. I mean the fact that she cracked his skull open at close range. Milly never liked close quarters combat. She was Nickel-Eye's worst enemy when he tried to teach her "Sambo", and she hated using knives, too. She'd use both of these things, but not without flinching in some way.

She gagged when she saw what she'd managed to do. It made her already uneasy stomach do flips, but she held back any vomit that might have tried to make its way up. Me? I've ripped the throats out of various creatures in my life, and I've even eaten a few creatures alive. I'm used to gross scenes.

The attack, though silent and quite resourceful, still brought Milly some pursuers when she whistled for her horse and mounted him. She shot and killed one of her pursuers with her P99, and spurred Fortitude to gallop.

We were quiet for a few moments running. I took note of the emotionless expression on my human's face as she stared straight ahead. I wanted to nudge her, but a loud "Pang!" interrupted, and I glanced back at one of my shiny legs.

A bullet had ricocheted off my shiny leg and dug itself into Fortitude's leg, leading him to move faster, as instinct took hold and he only wanted to get to safety. It wasn't long before he was in a full blown stampede and Milly was trying to control him and return fire at the same time.

Bullets that ricochet off things and hit living beings aren't as likely to kill, but they _do_ hurt like no tomorrow. Before I was shiny, I got hit by bullet ricochets and they hurt a lot. Getting a bullet removed is never fun, but getting a bullet that ricocheted removed seems to hurt worse.

We don't always remove the bullets embedded in our bodies (Milly actually has a bullet in her shoulderblade that was better off remaining where it was, and it's been there since a few years ago) because sometimes it could cause more harm than good. By the end, I think Cord had about fifty small arms bullets in his body. I remember having at least two or three.

As long as they don't move around too much, it's okay. The bullets in our bodies are far enough from any critical blood vessels that they're fine alone. Even so, we remove ricochets from ourselves at all times, because a ricochet can leave a bullet with an unusual shape; sometimes almost blade-like. We don't take chances in leaving a potentially sharp bullet inside bodies, so they're always removed. The ricochet, that is.

Milly was firing randomly, trying to stay balanced on the horse, and also trying to steer him in the remotest fashion all at the same time. I was trying to calm him down, telling him not to be afraid and that it'd be over soon. I didn't hold his reaction against him. It was in his nature to panic and try to escape anything that caused too much pain.

It's what horses do. Call it experience with Fortitude, or simple innate intuition, but instinct leads in some situations. That goes not only for horses, but for dogs, deathclaws, and even humans.

Her random firing didn't hit any of the Legionaries, but it scattered them a little bit, because the horses they were chasing _us_ on got panicky as well. There were three of them chasing us (Milly managed to kill the first before the chase really started). We weren't really concerned where we were going at the moment. After the chase was over, we'd regroup and find the right direction.

When Milly finally got Fortitude under control again (more or less, anyway), a stray bullet from one of the Legionary handguns caught her sniper rifle and rendered it baggage until she could get around to fixing it. She fired back and managed to hit another Legionary, not killing him immediately, but knocking him off his horse and resulting in his being dragged to death by the still stampeding animal.

She had a clear shot at one other Legionary, but when she pulled the trigger, the gun jammed. She quickly holstered it without a word and tugged at a sack she kept before her while she rode.

At a city loyal to our cause a state back, Milly was given a few boom balls and bang balls as a gift (and if you're not aware of what a boom ball is, it's a funny looking ball that Milly pulls on, throws, and it blows up, and a bang ball makes a loud "bang!" and a bright flash). She kept them in the sack in case she needed them, and as fate would have it, this would be one of those times. While spurring Fortitude to speed up, she took out one of each ball, played around with them for a second, and then threw both behind her at the Legionaries.

The bang ball blinded and disoriented both them and their horses (but it startled Fortitude and made him start running wildly again). The boom ball killed one of the men and his horse, and the other horse and man were both injured by the shrapnel, leading the Legionary to lose control and eventually get thrown from his horse down a cliff we were riding near.

It wasn't until we stopped about twenty minutes later that Milly looked at where we were on her wrist machine, and then adjusted to be back on course. We didn't continue much further after that, but we weren't being tailed as far as we could tell yet. Once we stopped, Milly looked over Fortitude's wounds, and the bullet that bounced off me.

I wasn't injured at all, as the bullet only bounced off one of my shiny legs. Fortitude wasn't seriously injured by the bullet, as was expected, but we still needed to remove the round from his leg, which meant basically poking around in his clotted up wound to search for a piece of metal.

He let out agonized sounds, but he stifled them as much as he could. Milly didn't name him Fortitude for nothing, after all.

While she treated him, she was soothing him, trying to tell him to stay calm. She wanted him to trust her, and for a while I thought she was just acting like that so he didn't get too spooked. However, after it was said and done, she smiled at him for a while and ran her hand on his side. She saw the intelligence in his eyes, and I wondered what she thought of animals like us.

I mean animals that have either evolved or endured mutation both genetic and radioactive. Those of us that can think beyond instinct telling us "eateateateateateateateateate ateateatsleepsleepsleepsleep sleepsleepsleepsleepmatemate matematematematematematedie".

Instinct is always there, of course. However, rather than have a tight grip on us (as animals), it's the instinctual hold on a human: a simple digit, reminding us that we are living things on a scorched planet, and though we are not puppets of nature anymore, we can be in certain situations.

This escape was the first time I saw Fortitude's instincts show. He acted in ways I never thought I'd see him act, and though the escape resulted in the wounding of the horse, I was happy when I looked up at my Milly, seeing her smile as she patted Fortitude.

She was coming around again.

End of Chapter

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**4,334 words.**

**This is much more effective if you read Maxwell's death while listening to "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" by The Beatles. Either that, or imagine sound effects with it. "KRRRRUNCH!" "THUD!" "TING!" "CRACK!"**

**Alright, next chapter covers Nikolai's next attack, and whether or not the weather will weather his attacks. Weather.**


	14. Shock and Awe

**Chapter 13**

**Shock and Awe**

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**"The rush of battle is often a potent and lethal addiction, for war is a drug."**

**-Chris Hedges**

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Kansas was known before the war for twisters and Oz. Twisters were a constant threat to those trying to live in states like Kansas. The flatter the terrain, the easier it was for a tornado to form.

As a general rule, the Capital Wasteland didn't see many twisters because of the many downed buildings and debris piled high. These skeletons of the pre-war world prevented strong tornadoes from forming when coupled with natural hills.

Kansas had no such protection. It was constantly bombarded by Mother Nature before the war, and now Mother Nature was relentless in her assaults on the poor central states.

As such, Nikolai was understandably pissed off when he was trying to escape a tornado.

It wasn't a huge cyclone, but as a general rule, Nikolai preferred to stay out of wind storms. They were a nightmare to snipers, and the man himself wasn't keen on the thought of being run through by a two hundred year old tire iron. The universe has shown such accuracy when a two ton care package fell on two militiamen in Africa; two men that took the food in the care packages from those that needed it. Both were crushed and killed instantly by perfect aim, courtesy of the universe.

Conversely, twisters have been known to pick up small children, adults, and even cartons of eggs, and later place them down gently in a different location. Egg cartons have been found that were in tornadoes without a single egg broken inside, and men, women, and children have been found unharmed by the windstorms.

Even so, neither Nikolai or his horse were interested in riding a tornado, hence the rapid galloping.

They weren't really trying to outrun the tornado itself. They were trying to run out of the way, but it seemed like the big wind storm took a shine to them. Even the Super Mutants, radscorpions, and deathclaws fled from the massive cyclone in terror. Powerful or not, it was an intimidating sight to behold.

When a hut appeared on the horizon, Nikolai spurred his horse to run towards it. Whether or not innocent civilians or raiders were taking cover in it was irrelevant. Nikolai saw a barn next to the hut, which would suit him just fine. The twister looked like it wouldn't take out the small home directly. It might send debris in the direction of it, but it wouldn't total the place. Not if hundreds of years of abuse by mother nature didn't do so already.

The barn looked sturdy enough to protect both he and his horse from the storm. He rode into the building and quickly slammed the door shut behind him, without a care as to who or what might be there to keep him company.

So he had to credit himself for the swiftness in which he drew his weapon and whirled around to the third heartbeat in the room.

It was a woman, not likely out of her twenties. She had brown hair and bright, vibrant brown eyes (as opposed to Nikolai's bloodshot, borderline insane ones). On her person was no weapon, and sensing no threat, Nikolai holstered his pistol.

"It's never fun to be caught in one of those things. I take it you're a tourist?" she asked kindly. Nikolai did not answer, but instead demanded a name.

"...oh. I'm Betty. Betty Budd."

Nikolai glanced out the window again, preparing to duck if necessary. The silence bothered Betty, and she sought to break the tension.

"What's the name of your horse?" she asked, looking at the frightened beast.

Nikolai ensured the barn would hold up if the twister passed any closer, and looked at the animal.

"It has no name."

These words, as they left his lips, were emotionless. It wasn't that Nikolai didn't have time to name the horse. He chose not to. As far as Betty Budd was concerned, such apathy was impossible.

"Why not? Why do you not name your horse?" she asked.

"Because when it dies, all that might be remembered is that it was a horse. Naming of beasts is stupid and irrelevant."

All was silent once again. The hunter breathed out.

"I'm Nikolai."

The afternoon passed with the two in the barn, waiting for the tornado to pass, and then waiting for the following rainstorm to pass. There were many one-sided conversations, with Nikolai drinking a bottle of his favorite Vodka (found during his travels) and Betty drinking scotch.

They were drunk. That's why, even after the storm passed, they stayed in the barn. Nikolai didn't leave until the next morning. He was in a good mood for once, because he managed, in his words, to "fuck her and chuck her".

Perhaps Budd wouldn't have made such a bad mistake if she was sober. No, not sleeping with Nikolai, but staying and talking with him through the storm. Still, she didn't know who he really was. As far as she knew, he liked being around her. She thought he wanted to be friends with her.

She was too innocent, Nikolai decided. He waited on a hilltop not far from the barn until she came out. She never saw the scope's glint. All she heard was a "BANG!", and Betty Budd was no more.

As far as he was concerned, Budd was a sheep to the slaughter. He figured he was doing her a favor by killing her quickly, because someone as innocent as she was would not survive in the real world.

Still, it was a successful hunt on his part. He stared for a moment through the scope. Her innocent eyes glazed and became dull.

"Good hunting."

Nikolai took to his horse, and was prepared for his attack when he did so. The sky was still overcast and the wind slowly picked up again, so he wanted to close the distance between himself and the camp before a storm brewed.

One could imagine his displeasure at having to make a long detour around several cliffs not on his map.

He let out more than one curse both in English and Russian. He didn't like even the thought of navigating through the new hoops just to get to his target, and the first raindrops only made him hate the idea even more.

The trip only took about two hours. Nikolai had no reason to stop. He skipped lunch and was sober enough since breakfast. The camp he had to hit was on guard, though. Word of one of the previous attacks had at long last reached his target, and the Legion was no doubt on alert for a Russian sniper as well as a former Vault Dweller.

Nikolai stopped his horse when he saw buildings. The camp was surrounded by the skeletons of old buildings, and though these were fairly stable, they were used only as some measure of protection against nature. Lately, with the rumors of not just one, but five Legionary camps being thrown into turmoil by Miss 101 and an unknown Russian, a sniper had been posted in one of the building windows. The sniper failed to notice Nikolai in the poor visibility courtesy of the storm, but Nikolai was a professional in the art of murder. The moment he saw the buildings surrounding the Legion's camp, he had the intention of checking them all for snipers. He dismounted his horse, sent it behind a rocky outcrop, and made his way forward slowly, until he was just able to see whoever might be in the buildings with his scope.

With its thin numbers, the Legion could only afford to remove two from patrol rotation. The two this particular camp chose were the best sniping pair in the camp. They weren't legendary, but they weren't likely to miss, no matter how fast Nikolai approached.

When he spotted the first sniper, he knew where the second would be. Directly next to the first was the spotter. Nikolai slowly opened his free eye, and he drew away from his scope. Though he wouldn't admit it, he was impressed with their organization. He took his radio out of his back pocket and turned it on.

"Whore, do you copy?"

There was a moment of silence, but it wasn't easy to tell, as the rain became a downpour by the time he showed up, a thunderstorm brewed, and the wind picked up. First there was white noise, and then Milly came back.

"Whore to Alcoholic. What's on your mind?"

Nikolai ignored her new name for him, and looked at the sniper and spotter through his scope again.

"My Legionary camp has a sniping team out, probably looking for one of us..."

The spotter pointed his partner to a distraction not far from Nikolai; maybe fifty feet. It was a deathclaw, and by the looks of things, wind was carrying Nikolai's scent away from it, and it was trying to find shelter. The sniper rifle's report was masked by the storm's anger, and all Nikolai saw was the deathclaw crumble back after being domed by the Legionary. Nikolai put his mouth to the radio again.

"...make that a very good sniping team."

"Are you in trouble?"

"Not if they don't see me. If I shoot now, the survivor will alert the camp. I need to get closer, and maybe I can get inside the building..."

He trailed off when he saw the locked gate with the Legionary mongrel and armed guard in a seat nearby.

"...or not. Just keep an eye out for snipers when you get to your next target."

He looked at the gate, but he had trouble seeing inside it. All he knew was the guard and mongrel were out of sight of the sniper team, but that didn't mean he was.

"Nikolai, do what you need to do. I don't care if it means blowing the place back to Caesar's front door. Just get it-"

He shut off the walkie talkie and breathed out slowly. He scoped the sniping team to see if they were looking at him, and he was lucky that they weren't. Still, it would only be a matter of time before they checked his position, so he slowly made his way to a rocky outcrop, still soaking wet. His slow movements drew no attention, but it only seemed to rain harder.

He wouldn't admit it, but he was actually nervous now. If he botched this shot, the whole camp would be on alert. Nikolai's worst enemy was an enemy sniper. He could kill the spotter or the sniper, but the each was likely trained to duck at the first sign of trouble. The only way he could kill them both silently would be to get inside the gate and outflank them without being detected. It was a strategy he'd employed before to infiltrate a terrorist organization outside of Volgograd. It wasn't that his mission went south that day in Volgograd. He completed his mission in clear weather. He never tried something like this in a heavy rain and windstorm, though.

He could simply leave the sniper team alone and go after his target, but if he couldn't get out quietly (and it was very unlikely that he would), he'd regret not removing them. He spared another look at the dead deathclaw, and then took a swig of water from his canteen, sparing his alcohol for a moment that wasn't life threatening.

He considered his options. If he killed the guard first, the dog may start running towards him, and if the sniper catches the dog running, he could be compromised. If he killed the dog first and didn't kill the guard immediately after, he'd likely be compromised. Still, it was likely that he'd be made quicker by four feet instead of two. He opted to kill the mongrel first, and then kill the guard posted at the gate right away.

He found no need to use the suppressor on his weapon, as the storm was loud enough to mask his shots. Even with the variable zoom scope, visibility was poor. He had to rely on the sihouette of his target.

He was lucky. The dog slumped to the ground shortly after he fired. The sniper team didn't kill him so he thought they didn't notice him. He saw the guard jolt when the dog's brain splattered his body, and that was the guard's final mistake. The movement confirmed that he was indeed staring at a man's silhouette. He quickly snapped to his next target and pulled the trigger again.

This time, the guard slumped into his seat. Nikolai wasn't sure initially where he hit either target, but both were either dead or unconscious, and that was all that was necessary at the moment.

After killing the man and the dog, Nikolai slowly made his way through the mud to the gate, a process that took the rest of the afternoon, and most of the evening. He'd constantly look at the sniping team through his scope to make sure he was still in the clear, and each time the answer was "yes".

He did, however, have to speed up his movement a bit when the storm began to slow down and visibility improved slightly. At that point, he was soaked through and covered in mud, so he blended in nicely with the rest of the land. The man had ended up violating his resolve and drinking his vodka during the slow crawl, not because he was weak, but because he was cold and wanted any warmth he might get.

He started drinking it because he wanted to stay warm. He kept drinking it because he was an alcoholic.

After he was done for the moment with his alcohol (he returned it to its proper spot in his pack), he dug through the dead man's belongings, searching for a key to open the door. After he found what he was looking for, he checked the man's vitals (and found none), and went for the door. Before he opened it, he spared another look at the dead man and saw an apple in his hand. He took it, took a bite, grimaced, and threw it away.

He wasn't quite sure why he did that. Maybe it was an attempt to delay his entry into this particular camp? If so, it didn't work very well. He ended up inside shortly thereafter.

Inside the camp, Nikolai was out of the sniper's line of fire. He entered the building he thought they were in, and for the first time since he started his infiltration, he was out of the weather. In spite of how soggy he was, he did his best not to make a sound. He always tried to avoid making a sound. When his comrades actually liked him, they nicknamed him "The Wolf", because he stalked quietly and viewed the art of murder as hunting.

He stalked his way up the steps to the next floor of the old pre-war building.

He paused midway up the steps. After this, either he'd leave the building or the sniping team would. He brought himself to continue, but wondered what made him suddenly hesitate.

It wasn't killing Budd. He did her a favor, and she did him a favor by serving as target practice. He reasoned it was because he was less-than-sober, and never dealt with an enemy sniping team while so.

When he saw them peering out at the wasteland, he got lower. Both had plates of half-eaten dinner next to them, and carried flares on them to attract Legionary attention anywhere they pleased.

He took out the spotter first because the spotter was closer, and then he went for the sniper. Both men were killed with his sidearm, because he wasn't sure how successful he'd be if he tried to kill them with his knife.

Before leaving the room, Nikolai decided to look at what the spotter was eating. He took his knife out; the weapon that was inside more people than it was its sheath, and stuck a piece of brahmin meat with it. He popped it in his mouth, and proceeded on.

Brahmin steak was his favorite meal next to alcohol.

Any confidence he had in himself was shattered shortly after he found his way outside. He left the building and turned a corner, and found himself face-to-face with three Legionaries and a guard dog.

All involved were very surprised, to say the least. For the first several seconds, not a shot was fired, and no alarm was raised. It was as if the world stopped turning, and time froze. Nikolai, though he was made, didn't stand tall at first. His eyes met the eyes of the three Legionaries, and then the dog's. All returned the look he gave them.

Had he been captured, he'd be interrogated, tortured, probably crucified, definitely slowly killed, and then tortured some more. After what felt like hours of silence, Nikolai broke the ice.

"Stay away from my vodka!"

As he shouted, he ran back to the sniper's nest and made sure to kill the dog and force the three behind cover. His tactics worked and he managed to get to the building safely, but he knew that he only had a limited amount of time to either dig in or escape.

He eyed the few propane tanks that were lined up against a wall and considered the flares the dead duo above were carrying. He fired blindly out the door to try and scatter a few of the Legionaries, and rushed up the stairs, retrieved the flares, and set to work on the propane tanks.

He stuck two flares to two propane tanks, and ensured both were lit before he threw them outside. The Legionaries, having had time to find cover, quickly threw themselves behind it at Nikolai's movements, but corrected themselves and spared a look at what he was doing. The propane tanks landed, and before the flares could suffer too much from the rain, Nikolai fired a round at one and took cover.

The explosion was mostly for show. It kept the Legionaries behind cover for a few more moments, and Nikolai took those moments to retreat further into the building. He slammed a door shut behind him and stuck an old iron pipe in the handles, and then turned to look at his surroundings.

It was very dark in the room he now hid in. He lit a flare he'd kept with him, and slowly walked forward with his sidearm in hand.

He frowned down at it. He only had four bullets left in his magazine.

The room he'd entered was at one point in the past used for storage of human beings, if the old clothing and slave collars were of any indication. Nikolai proceeded through relatively quickly before finding a latch leading underground. He didn't know where he'd end up if he used it, but he had a feeling that he'd be found relatively quickly should he continue through the remainder of the building.

He was walking through the underground for what felt like an eternity, his progress stale, eagerness dimming, and his interest vanishing. He was quite certain he was lost and he was also certain that the Legionaries were onto him by now.

It was with neither great relief nor great apprehension that he took to the exit when at last he reached it. He got down low and peered out at the wastes (but not before looking both ways). It had stopped raining.

He wasn't in the camp anymore, but it didn't take a genius to know that there was now a manhunt underway. Mongrels and Legionaries were searching far and wide for him, and he could hear footsteps closing in from behind. He very quietly exited the pipe he was in (he'd been walking through what was once a sewage system) and hid beneath it. It was dark and dank under the pipe and he understood that he'd be safe from wandering eyes if he did not move.

The Legionaries in the pipe thought that he'd flee, since the attacks on previous camps were never very long. The perpetrator, whether male or female, usually fled at the first opportunity. It was as such safely assumed that Nikolai considered his mission a complete failure and he tried to escape. The Legion didn't yet know just how much of an obsessive son of a bitch Nikolai Rascalov was, especially when it came down to the hunt.

He couldn't stand to be the prey. It was his number one fear. He was the predator. He was the killer. He would stalk and, if he must, go down fighting. Being hunted brought him halfway to prey. He didn't want to become "The Lamb" by silently fleeing the camp without accomplishing his goal. If he killed his target and then fled, it would be a tactical retreat. If he left unsuccessful, he was not an expert huntsman anymore.

On his right, the camp was above, just five feet overhead on a plateau. It had at one point been blocked off by a fence, but the storm that night blew a section of fence away, allowing entry. Nikolai carefully inched his way out of the shadows and towards the wall and slowly brought himself to the top.

He very nearly lost his footing while his climbed, as the wall was wet from the rain. Had he not been wearing boots that were appropriate for gripping, he surely would've fallen back and rolled down the remaining slope before being shot to death by the Legion.

He was still undetected, and the camp was nearly empty. He restocked on alcohol and a few Dragunov rounds in one tent, and then he found his way to the Centurion's tent. It was in the tent that he waited for his target.

He was there until the break of dawn, hidden in shadows in one corner of the tent. He would hardly allow himself to blink. He stared at the tent's entrance at every waking moment, waiting for his target to show his face.

It wasn't until dawn that the search for him was given up and the Legion returned to base. The Centurion, Remus, finally entered the tent, demanding his privacy from the Legionary guards that desired to watch over him from then on.

"He's not here. Keep watch on the camp, and tell those posted outside to watch for snipers. Nobody comes in here with a damned sniper rifle."

Nikolai glanced at the Dragunov on his back. The target closed the tent flaps and walked to his bed, where he collapsed face first with a groan.

"The Legion has declined tremendously."

Thus, the last word uttered by Remus was "tremendously". Nikolai drove his knife through the man's throat swiftly and silently. As the Centurion expired, Nikolai began sawing at his left hand with the blade, until it no longer belonged to the Centurion but now to Nikolai. He played with the nerve endings and pulled on tendons, moving the digits to his own devices. When he had his fun, he took the machete the Centurion had on his back, quietly stuck it in the ground, handle first, forced the severed hand to give the middle finger, and impaled it on the blade, facing the tent and any who would enter it.

He vanished through the rear of the tent and down the slope before anyone even knew the Centurion was killed, and the only way anyone knew of his presence at all was by his whistling for his horse. He looked back at the Legionary camp one final time before mounting the beast, but said not a word.

End of Chapter

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**3,977 words.**

**I had the idea of this chapter for a long time, but I got distracted, mainly with trolling people I don't know on xbox LIVE. A friend and I send people I do not know 15 second voice mail rants, sometimes involving pizza, or whether or not the move "Splash" from the _Pokémon_** **series does something (and as far as my friend is concerned, not only is something being kept from us, but he thinks that splash is the most powerful move in all of Pokemon). **

**Long story short, I was procrastinating.**

**Next chapter might have a bit of a wait, too, because I'm currently reading for three different classes. It covers Milly's next attack, and a surprise that nobody better be expecting.**


	15. Nostalgia

**Chapter 14**

**Nostalgia**

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**"My friend, you would not tell with such high zest to children ardent for some desperate glory, the Old Lie: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori."**

**-Wilfred Owen**

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The world constantly picks on and belittles the good, or so it seems. So it is, and so it is not. It is the duty of someone with a kindly nature to be strong, because it's typically more difficult to be good in the face of corruption than it is to succumb to the vices that claim so many others.

Vanity and speech never cease to amaze me. It's a miracle we as people can even communicate with each other. I can't describe nothing as "nothing", because the world itself is something. It exists, though it may not be tangible. The best way I can describe "nothing" is by staying my tongue.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what happened to me after my sexual act. I was a hypocrite in my own eyes and I made sure I did not say a word of what happened into the radio, for fear of how Nikolai might react. I feared he might try to use it as an excuse to kill me. Granted, he was going to find out sooner or later, but I'd rather he found out about my pregnancy later, in a secure camp full of witnesses.

Call it hypocrisy or determination. I was still, while developing a bastard child of the Legion, intent on destroying the thing that spawned he or she. No, I wouldn't abort the child. It's not the baby's fault...

It's my own fault, but I did it to save my own hide, and Dogmeat's, and Fortitude's, and the world's, even. Therefore, was it something I _had_ to do?

That's why I feel nothing. I feel so much regarding this child that I was going to keep (boy or girl, it would be raised as I was, minus my running out of Vault 101 on it) that I felt... nothing.

Dogmeat never gave me a moment's peace. He was always by my side (as if he left before any of this happened). I wasn't showing much yet, but it was enough to be a little noticeable. The only thing that kept me from breaking down completely in my efforts was the idea that not only is a woman causing so much grief for the Legion, but a _pregnant_ woman is causing that grief for the Legion.

I'd been getting more training than sleeping with my sniper rifle in the few weeks since I discovered the consequence of my actions. Moving targets are much more valuable to a trainee than a stationary one is, and even a stationary target can be difficult to hit.

I'd been finding headshots on creatures easier now. No, it's not that I can hit everything in the head in one hit, but rather, I'm more likely to hit something in the head if the target's big enough and near enough. My sleep deprivation was my trainer. Whenever I shut my eyes, I thought about my baby, and my actions. In a sense, it was the very enemy I was slowly disgracing that taught me how to survive one more trick they might throw at me.

I spent most of my trip in and out of range of a radio station. It was a station in Santa Fe called "Liberty Rock Radio" with its host, Iggy. Santa Fe was a highly rebellious state, though it is still a Legionary territory. It's rebellious nature is why it calls its radio "Liberty Rock Radio", and not "Santa Fe Rock".

I know what you're thinking. I asked the same thing when I made my rare trip to a Bed and Breakfast. Until then, I didn't know Santa Fe didn't consider itself part of "New Mexico" anymore. The lady at the Bed and Breakfast I stayed at told me the incredible story of how Santa Fe supposedly claimed its independence from the state of New Mexico, the state that, in my opinion, did absolutely nothing wrong to it.

I could tell you the _thrilling_ story (it was the first time I felt sleepy in a week), but here's the whole thing in a nutshell:

About 150 years ago, Santa Fe apparently decided that New Mexico was treating it terribly, even though any semblance of power that was remaining in New Mexico ultimately ended up saving the capital from an untimely demise by the hands of repeated raider attacks. The War on Raiders sapped whatever economy the state had left, and so the remaining leaders of New Mexico taxed its people. Santa Fe said no, the two sides fought, Santa Fe got the aid of folks from El Paso, and eventually New Mexico surrendered...

...by which I mean it cut its losses and essentially said it couldn't care less what Santa Fe did or felt. So now, according to the folks of Santa Fe, the United Wastes of America's flag should have fifty-two stars, not fifty-one (Canada was considered a state after its annexation).

As I was saying, Santa Fe rebelled against New Mexico, and it also rebelled against the Legion. The Legion considers Santa Fe still "Santa Fe, New Mexico". They were irritated by constant acts of insubordination on the side of any in Santa Fe. The camp in the "state" had to send for reinforcements, but as I've mentioned over and over again, the Legion's numbers are thin.

They mustered something else together for the special case of Santa Fe. They got together a force that I thought I was completely done with.

I don't know how or when they got the mind-controlled deathclaws of the Enclave into their ranks, but I assumed it had something to do with the plants that assisted in my attack on the Enclave years ago... or perhaps they already had the means of making these devices from other Enclave camps.

It didn't matter where they came from at the time. I recall riding Fortitude, and all was well. Dogmeat was walking next to me, and it was all quiet. The camp was just on the horizon, the night was totally clear, and I was relaxed for once.

Suddenly, I hear what sounded something like a roar, and Fortitude collapsed beneath me with a loud, excruciating grunt. I discovered ragdoll physics on my way down with him, and I fell onto my back in what I assumed was my horse's entrails.

He wasn't even dead yet. He was still moving, his horrified eyes met mine... and I looked up at the attacker and saw a deathclaw being attacked by Dogmeat. He was holding my angry dog at bay, and I saw the glimmer of the mind-control device on his head. I drew my handgun and shot for his neck, knowing my small arms fire would do little to nothing otherwise.

I fired three shots with my suppressed weapon, and one of those three managed to hit the beast where I wanted: the deathclaw equivalent of the carotid artery. Dogmeat knew what I was trying to do, and he continued struggling in the beast's paws so it couldn't counter accurately. He continued in such a manner until the deathclaw slowly sunk to the ground and expired from the loss of blood.

Once Dogmeat got up (he was unharmed), I stood too and looked at Fortitude again. I was correct in my earlier assumption. The deathclaw's swipe managed to disembowel my horse, and he was slowly dying. I knew there was nothing I could do here to fix it, and I wasn't going to let him suffer any more. I placed my palm on Fortitude's uninjured shoulder, played with his mane a little, shook my head, and I ended his misery with a bullet to the head.

I wasn't going to have a repeat of Cord's agonizing death.

I took my equipment from Fortitude's corpse, tears threatening to leak down my cheeks at any time (I didn't break down because Fortitude wasn't as close to me as Cord was). I split the weight with Dogmeat, and I dreaded the thought of making this trip on foot. I love to travel, but... I have a deadline.

Very shortly after I divided the weight, I looked back at the deathclaw and took a look at his mind-control device.

"Dogmeat," I whispered. He looked up at me. "If you can, try to crush that thing on their heads and then put distance between you and any you attack. This way, they might attack any nearby Legionaries, too."

He blinked at me and nodded twice in understanding. He's such a smart dog...

As we walked on, we encountered no more trouble until we covered about half the distance between us and the camp. We both took cover behind a large boulder immediately (I then scrambled up the boulder and peered through my sniper scope). There were five deathclaws and three Legionaries. They looked like they saw Dogmeat and I move behind the boulder, because the Legionaries were holding the boulder at gunpoint. I suppose they only didn't see me atop the big rock because I was in a smooch at the top.

I reasoned that disabling one of those mind control traps would raise a lot more hell than simply killing one of the Legionaries, so I aimed for the middle deathclaw (he was of a different complexion than his tan skinned brethren). He'd raised his snout into the air and was trying to catch either my scent or Dogmeat's, and I clipped the mind control device.

Before anybody could react (at the time, I wasn't even sure I hit the device), I'd already shot out another of the devices. The third attempt backfired. Rather than hit the machine, I accidently killed the deathclaw.

The first deathclaw I "freed" crumbled to the ground in a heap. I thought I might have killed him, because deathclaws wearing the mind control devices sometimes had a habit of abruptly dying (I assumed the Legion resolved that issue to some extent). The second deathclaw I freed quickly smacked the shiny device from the fourth deathclaw's head, and _that _deathclaw freed the fifth.

With the pale deathclaw still unconscious, the tan three went after the Legionaries (they'd already started running the moment the pale deathclaw crumbled). It's impossible to outrun a deathclaw in full stampede, so needless to say, the three Legionaries fell quickly.

This entire time, the three were taking fire from other Legionaries (likely additional guards, because the camp was still a good four miles away). There was nobody coming my way, so I figured they thought the deathclaws broke free of the hold on their own. I slowly got down from the boulder and hid for several minutes, waiting for the gunfire to quiet down.

Dogmeat was growling and glaring at the pale deathclaw. I slowly peeked my head around the boulder to look at it and I saw it regain its feet slowly. Its eyes were squeezed shut like it had a migraine, and its paws were clutching its head. I was already looking for a way around the beast.

The deathclaw wasn't walking around. It was woozy, stumbling back and forth. I snuck through some tall grass without time to don my ghillie suit, all while keeping an eye on the beast. Dogmeat followed my lead, moving slowly and quietly, all while eyeing the pale deathclaw.

As we got closer, the deathclaw (I figured out it was a male as we passed closest to him) opened his eyes and sniffed at the air. As fate would have it, my scent was being blown towards him. He turned towards me and I quickly aimed my SRS at him.

I give my inability to quickly scope and shoot the credit for keeping the deathclaw alive long enough to do what he did. He didn't sprint at me and try to kill me, and he didn't growl to warn me off or anything. He put his paws out, almost as if he were... surrendering.

He looked nothing like Cord. Cord didn't have pale skin like this deathclaw did (his skin was the same tannish color as the other deathclaws). Even so, once I saw his paws go out like that, I looked at his face and saw his honest intentions.

This wasn't just a deathclaw. It was albino, for one thing, and it was also one of the endangered intelligent deathclaws, if the phrase it uttered was any indication.

"Hold your fire. Please do not shoot. I am not one of my lesser minded brothers."

I slowly stood with his words, and my lens swayed more and more as I stood tall. I was shaking, and he was approaching slowly, with his paws still out like he was surrendering. I dropped my weapon, and squeezed my eyes shut, burning as I kept tears in.

I felt him gently put one paw on my arm and I whirled away, walking a few steps before falling to my knees. Behind me, I heard the mind-control device clatter to the ground, and the deathclaw stood by my side, no doubt looking down at me as I sobbed.

His first few sentences were all it took for memories of everything I've done and had happen to me in the past four years to come rushing back to me. From my Dad dying to granting Fortitude a mercy-killing, I was experiencing it all again.

I felt the deathclaw once again place his paw on my shoulder, likely very unsure of what to do about my sudden collapse. I reasoned he learned somewhere of what humans do to reassure one another, or else he might've avoided physical contact.

I kept on like that for what felt like forever. Dogmeat was cuddling against me to offer me any means of comfort he could, and the deathclaw did what he could, in spite of how awkward he must have felt. On one of the few moments I opened my eyes, I saw Dogmeat glaring at the deathclaw and warning him off from any further contact with me distrustfully.

When I finally regained my composure, I looked up at the deathclaw. He smiled down at me.

"Thank you for destroying the mind-box on my head," he said. "It is nice to control my own thoughts once more."

"Your welcome, I guess. Wha... Who are you? What do you call yourself?"

He let out a snort, which, after time spent with Cord, I knew was some degree of chuckling.

"I have no birth name, as my father kept himself busy travelling with a man not unlike you."

I blinked. "A man with a vendetta?"

"A man on a mission. You are not the only human to speak to deathclaws."

I stared. He crouched as well as he could so he could be my height.

"My father... maybe you know him?"

"...Uhh... was his name..."

I gulped. This was weird...

"...Cord?"  
The deathclaw shook his head and my relief was overwhelming. I think I saw Dogmeat let out a sigh of relief, too. That would've been beyond strange.

"His name was Goris, and his father was named Gruthar. Ring any bells?"

I shook my head slowly. "I've heard of intelligent deathclaws before, but not by specific names."

"What of this 'Cord'?"

I looked at my feet. "That's another story entirely."

There was a pause, and I eyed the deathclaw again. "So, your name?"

"As I mentioned, I was not given a birth name. I'd only heard a few stories of my father's travels, and the fate of his father."

"Surely you prefer to be called something..."

He smiled at me again, and I let some degree of a smile back at him.

"These mind-boxes... they need to be maintained endlessly by these foolish humans. Thus, when they are removed, we deathclaws are caged. Sometimes, we are not knocked completely unconscious by whatever toxins they use on us. In my recess with the capability of free thought, I'd eavesdrop."

I stared, and the deathclaw continued speaking.

"These men... they've heard my speech before. When they heard it, it was not great, but it was still speech. In another tongue, they'd refer to me as 'In argutus unus'. Through years with these people, I learned two tongues."

He smiled down at me again. "I took to the word "Argutus", for it does justice to my mind. Intelligent. Argutus, you see?"

I smiled up at him. "Arrogant, aren't we?"

He snorted again, and gently patted the top of my head as if I were a small child.

"Aware, that is all."

"How did you learn to speak so well?" I asked him.

"As I mentioned, when I was still conscious during my brief reprieves from the control of those people, I would listen to men speak, and I would learn as well as I can."

"...I thought that the intelligent deathclaws were wiped out..." I mused, my head finally clearing a bit.

"We were nearly extinct. Had my father been home, we would have been. He was, as I mentioned, travelling when the slaughter on his herd took place. He didn't get home in time to assist. The deathclaws, along with most of the humans they sheltered, were all dead, and the guilty party was already gone."

I sighed, Argutus let out what I thought was a sigh, and all was silent for what felt like days.

"So, what can I do?" he asked after our reprieve. I blinked.

"What do you mean?" I asked. He smiled at me.

"You saved me from slavery. How can I repay the favor?" he asked. The slightest shiver went down my spine. He was so much like Cord... and yet so diffent.

I saved Cord from slavery, as I had saved Argutus from slavery. Cord essentially cut all ties with his parents for fear of their health, and Argutus did not know his father so well. Cord was a human trapped in the body of a deathclaw, and Argutus showed a similar personality...

One offered to help me find my father in an old garage, and the other is asking what he can do for me as well!

Yet... Cord was not a true deathclaw. He was a human like me at one point. Argutus had always been a deathclaw. Cord was silly, kind, and a good friend... but I was not so sure about this deathclaw yet. He seemed kindly, but his attitude towards me was different somehow. The way he eyed me as he awaited my response seemed full of...

I mentally smacked myself as I remembered being asked a question.

"You don't have to help me with anyth-"

"I must. You aided me, though it was not intentional. It is only fair that I assist you, too, so please... make a request."

I thought for a minute. The way he stared at me, I could tell he was ardent to do whatever he could to help me, and he would not leave me without making good on his promise of some type of assistance.

I couldn't send him into the camp and ask him to covertly kill Romulus, because I had a feeling that would be sending him to death, or back to slavery. As I thought over my options, I lit up.

He must've saw the evil smile on my face, because he got closer to hear what I had to say.

"Argutus, how do you feel about putting that thing back on your head for a little while?"

It was through the employment of a trojan horse that I got safely through the front lines of Romulus' camp. I slowly walked forward with Argutus' paws wrapped around my belly (I had a gun concealed under one of his big paws, which I intended on using to kill off Romulus, and I held a smoke grenade in my other hand that I picked up while re-supplying in town). Dogmeat was slumped limp over the deathclaw's shoulder, feigning either death or unconsciousness, and both of my arms were pinned to my sides (with one hand holding the gun, of course).

Argutus was wearing the device on his head again, and though it was still broken, he walked and acted in such a way that it seemed to the Legionary guard that he was still under their command.

Few Legionary guards even spared me a second look. None took the time to curse me or to hit me, as such behavior would suggest weakness, disorganization, or the idea that what I was doing was taking its toll. They wanted to give me no such luxury should I be captured.

I was taken straight to Romulus, and two Legionary guards were posted by our sides, likely to ensure that I would not escape.

When I was presented before Romulus... my reception was completely different from Maxwell. The two guards with us were not sent away, and Argutus was not sent off, either. The Centurion eyed me up and down and I felt like I needed a bath right away.

"This is the profligate causing us grief?"

I didn't hear anything muttered in response, so I assume one of the guards gave a brief nod, because the man slapped me across the face with the back of his hand. He'd regret it.

"You are a brash fool, woman. You come into my land, intending to kill me, because you think we are evil. Isn't that it?"

I didn't respond, but I was not slapped again, either.

"We are trying to unite this land! With the strong at the top and the weak in support, we will be unstoppable. What is wrong with rebuilding this country?"

I was still silent.

"Is this because of your deathclaw? He was trained well. I must commend you for that. Nonetheless... why could you not go out in honor by the hand of the Legion? Had you only said the word we'd have granted a soldier's death."

"This is not about the attempt on my life," I whispered. "This is about your existence."

Romulus was silent and stoic, allowing me to continue.

"You have shown nothing but abuse since the day you vermin began parading about as men. You speak of uniting this land, but considering the banner of the bull, where slavery is acceptable and women are inferior, I'd rather a second nuclear apocalypse."

He continued staring, and I looked at the Legionaries that had surrounded us by now (at this point, the entire camp was on us- about 15 strong. I already had three targets and I knew where I would take cover). I eyed them all for several seconds.

"Days after my best friend was killed by you disgusting monsters, I set out and already killed one Legionary Centurion. Am I inferior? I will have a bastard child, because I killed his father. I stabbed him to death in his own tent with a pen knife. Am I still inferior? By the time I reach New Vegas, I will have caused the Legion more grief than the NCR has in four years."

"What makes you think you will be leaving here alive?" asked Romulus. Under Argutus' paw, I removed the pin to the smoke grenade with my thumb and prepared to drop it.

"Here," I said. "Let me show you."

At these words, Argutus released me, and stepped back. The smoke grenade clattered to the ground as the deathclaw promptly killed the two guards by each of his sides. Dogmeat sprang to life and began his own attack.

The smoke blew, and three bullets found Romulus' heart.

With the smoke now covering Romulus and I, I dove behind a desk and pushed it over. Nobody shot in my direction until the smoke cleared, for fear of hitting Romulus (the suppressor on my pistol combined with the sound of claws rending flesh hid my report).

As my dog and Argutus worked on more of the Legionaries, the smoke slowly cleared. While it was still somewhat covering me, I saw a man with a Barrett M82 (the weapon that killed Cord) try to take aim at Argutus.

He didn't have time to look through the scope before I shot him as well. My time out of cover, however, allowed for a stray bullet to catch me in the chest. Dogmeat's head shot to look at me, and Argutus glanced at me when they both heard the loud "SMACK".

I fell onto my back and for a few moments I could not breathe. I was wearing a kevlar vest, but they say that even if your armor blocks the bullet, you can still be injured or even die. My breathing was labored and I was starting to see white spots, and I feared I had a collapsed lung. While Argutus and Dogmeat thinned the heard, I wrestled my knife from its home on my leg and cut off my shirt, and then I removed the armor.

No blood was staining my undershirt, but I was still having a problem breathing. I felt dizzy and nauseous, and I pilled a syringe from my pocket (it turned out to be a stimpak). I didn't inject myself with the stimpak, but I rather stabbed myself between two of my ribs, and left the syringe in my body as I caught my breath again. I prayed nothing ill happened to the baby, and I prayed that nothing harmed my dog or this deathclaw that was rapidly becoming a new friend.

I slowly propped myself up against the desk and held my pistol in case a legionary came around here, but by the time I regained myself totally the gunfire I'd been hearing quieted, and a few moments after I acknowledged the change in volume, the last weapon being fired went silent.

Dogmeat was the first one around the desk, likely terrified that I was... hurt. He sighed in relief and fell beside me, waiting for me to stand. Argutus came around not three seconds after Dogmeat fell. He took very few bullets. I think his disgust with the Legion might have assisted in his evasiveness, but I don't know for certain.

I was fingering one of the six new dings in Dogmeat's robotic body when Argutus spoke.

"You're injured," he plainly said. I nodded, still catching my breath (and trying not to remove the stimpak, because I didn't know what would happen if I did). Argutus found his way in front of me and gently lifted me up, being careful not to move the syringe after seeing my pause.

"Let me take you to town," he said. "Perhaps once you've made some sort of recovery, we can talk about where we stand."

I responded breathlessly with a nod and a smile. The deathclaw carried me and my equipment, and he walked gently so as not to disturb me any more. I carefully knocked the broken mind-control device from his noggin and we continued walking back to town.

So much like Cord... and yet so different.

End of Chapter

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**4,479 words.**

**"...was it something I _had_ to do?" No, Mildred. Mr. Finley here just _loooves _hurting you. And drinking scotch.**

**I'm not exactly sure what to make of Canada after it was annexed. Would it be one state, or would various provinces be different states? I asked Terrance and Phillip, and they farted on each other and ran away laughing, so I'm still without an answer.**

**Argutus is not here as Cord's replacement. He's to be similar and different, and is a nod to Goris, the talking intelligent deathclaw of _Fallout 2_. He's here to answer a question I have. I'll find out the answer at the conclusion of this story.**

**I recall that stabbing yourself with a needle or a syringe is supposedly good for re-inflating a collapsed lung. I don't know what happens next, though.**

**Next chapter is going to likely be shorter, because I'm going to go a different route. We'll see how it works out.**


	16. Are You Nikolai Rascalov?

**Chapter 15**

**Are You Nikolai Rascalov?**

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**"One picture is worth one thousand denials."**

**-Ronald Regan**

* * *

Time almost slowed down in the moments after the shot was fired from the grassy hill. It was almost ironic to him. Denver was known as one of the Legion's strongholds in the East (at least, East when compared to Nevada). He'd expected more Legionaries or even the Legate himself to be around, and Nikolai knew that if he was caught by a fully equipped Legate, he'd be ripped to shreds. The alcoholic, that is.

The one man Nikolai actually had some level of fear for was Lanius. Though he didn't care about killing or death in general, he disliked pain. Pain was unpleasant.

It could be dulled by Vodka, but that didn't take away from how much he hated pain. If he could kill Legate Lanius with a well-placed sniper round, that would be fine by him. He had no knowledge of the man's armor, other than it was patchwork armor pieced together by fallen foes, as is the habit of superior Legionaries that don't die before the old age of 23.

Lanius killed enough men and women to make dense armor. Bullets would likely leave awful bruises or even break a few ribs, but he'd likely survive if Nikolai had to engage him with a pistol.

A SPAS-12 might do the trick. Nikolai knew what he wanted for his birthday.

As fate would have it, this Legionary was not Lanius. Nikolai stuck around after he fired to ensure Caesar's second-in-command was truley not present. His shot was not seen, and the Legionaries that gathered around the currently unconscious body of "Glanton" had not yet recovered enough to begin a search.

Nikolai saw Glanton exhale once more, and no longer. His chest no longer would rise and fall with life. He acknowledged the death with a nod as he began to pack up.

"Good hunting."

He was on his horse and prepared to flee until a voice interrupted him. It was not a Legionary. If the voice belonged to a Legionary, it would not have been used. Bullets would have been speech.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Nikolai froze, and placed a hand on a smoke grenade he had in a satchel on the horse's saddle.

"Are you Nikolai Rascalov?"

He immediately shook his head. "I do not know this man."

When he finally turned his head to see who was speaking with him, he was angered to see four Brotherhood of Steel Paladins behind him. The lead had an energy weapon with "Wonder Waffle" carved in the side. No weapons were trained on Rascalov yet, but he knew violence was going to erupt shortly, if not by the Legion, then by the Brotherhood.

"Do you think you can murder our Brothers and not face the consequences? Get off the horse slowly. We have questions for you."

Nikolai was silent for a minute. He looked at the ground, towards the Legionaries now advancing uphill, and back at the Brotherhood.

"How about this?"

As quickly as he could, he pulled the pin and dropped the smoke grenade before galloping off in a direction that saw him safe from both the Brotherhood and the Legion.

He didn't stop riding. He kept going. He was making up the escape procedure as he went along. Blind fire from both Legionaries and the Paladins stirred him when he slowed. A shadow moving slightly when it shouldn't have stressed him if he calmed. He knew the direction he was proceeding in was not the way to his next target. It wasn't even the way to any town in particular. He made a mental note to contact the Whore once he was free of the camp's vicinity and any Legionaries or Paladins that followed.

He assumed the Legion and Paladins fought it out amongst themselves. They were one in the same, the Brotherhood and the Legion. One sought peace by telling people what they can and can't have, essentially controlling them through a dictatorial rule. The other sought total control of the people, enslaving those that were weak and rewarding those that were strong. Where the Brotherhood had some level of morality, the Legion saw no such thing.

There was only strength. The Legion was built on the idea of "Survival of the Fittest". The weak were kept down, enslaved, murdered, and tortured. The rationale was "make them stronger". If the weak were tormented at the hands of their masters, the men of the Legion, then they would hardly feel anything if anarchists like the Brotherhood, the Enclave, remnants of the Master's Army, or even those damnable rebels in Freeside came around.

The rebels... They called themselves "The Kings". Each and every one in Freeside. "We are all Kings" was their motto. Even the women called themselves "The Kings" (some homosexual men in Freeside were a little different, calling themselves "The Queens"). They were led by one man that they simply called "The King", and since early January of 2282 (the year turning not long after the Whore and the Hunter began their campaign), they were successful in many endeavors against the Legion, like killing a Legionary named Vulpes Inculta, and...

...

...they were working on Caesar's guard, trying to lure and weaken them from their safety in the walls of Freeside (though they pushed the Legion out of the town, The Strip was abandoned. The Casinos provided little assistance in anything other than poor decision making).

Rascalov had never been to the Strip, but Sergei was there numerous times. He'd been rumored to have entered the Lucky 38, except the problem with that little theory was it allegedly took place about a hundred years before he was born. Yoblonovich claimed to have had no audience with Mr. House, and claims that he'd only entered The Tops to sell a few weapons at a discounted price (essentially as a middle finger to the Van Graff family and the Gun Runners), and made a point to avoid the White Gloves like the plague.

The Gun Runners didn't particularly care that one small Russian bastard sold a few weapons to a family on the Strip. They knew Yoblonovich, and knew he had a tendency to wander (ghoulified directors from the Pre-War era called him "The Walking Jump-Cut", because it seemed like it could take him six minutes to wander across the states, and six months to travel fifteen feet sometimes). Pinning him down would require a lot of effort, and Yoblonovich wasn't exactly a thorn in their side to begin with.

The Van Graff family, on the other hand, took offense to him. Here was a big energy weapon selling family, and their branch in Vegas was stuck in Freeside. Meanwhile, a tiny arms dealer from Russia is allowed in and out of the Strip on business (House approved of his dealings when it was made known that Yoblonovich was only dropping off sidearms to guards in The Tops).

It was rumored that Yoblonovich even sold guns to the Legion at one point, after Caesar guarenteed safe passage to and from the Fort. Caesar's Legion bought weapons from the Russian (the most noteable weapon being an Anti-Material rifle), and he was sent on his way. Caesar decreed that any Legionary firing upon him at any point would be crucified. At least he was true to his word to the Russian.

In the west, Yoblonovich's best customers were The Kings. They favored his selection of pistols and submachine guns, and he was offered safe passage throughout Freeside, though he never accepted. Nobody but Yoblonovich and his suppliers knew where his nearly inexhaustible supply of everything came from. The man himself never named any names, but always chalked the support down to his seemingly endless list of "buddies".

His pack brahmin likely hated him as much as he hated Nikolai. She wanted nothing more than to stand around eating whatever was edible all the time. Instead, she was stuck wandering around with random crap on her back. The only thing keeping her from rebelling against such an outrage was the occasional treat.

Yoblonovich's supplies, nonetheless, made him a prime target for Super Mutants. No, not for conversion, but simply for whatever he was carrying. He'd been robbed on numerous occasions, and he usually went out to try and hunt down what he lost shortly thereafter. Sometimes he was successful, other times he was not. His buddies rarely faulted him for being robbed, since Super Mutants were known for taking people and weapons (sometimes even dogs, for unknown reasons). He might have lost his brahmin in attacks, had he not packed it with so much random crap that any incoming bullets were rendered slow and otherwise inept.

His clients usually considered him a good arms dealer, though he had a tendency of butchering even the simplest names (whether this habit was intentional or not is up for debate). Still, he had an explosive temper, and was known to be adept with various weapons from extensive time with the Spetsnaz.

Rascalov, meanwhile, was a nameless, half-insane murderer. He could not ask for a more perfect reputation.

After he was sure that he was no longer being pursued, he was also certain that he could not be more off course if he tried. The prospect of having to wander around even more with the Brotherhood on his tail (again) irritated him, so he dug up his radio and called for the Whore.

"What is it, Nikolai?"

She sounded tired. He assumed she was resting. This was still more important.

"Call off your hounds. The damned Brotherhood attacked me."

"Did you kill your target?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did I want rhetorical questions?"

She was silent for a few more moments. He heard a gruff voice say something he did not understand.

"Yeah, I know, he's an asshole. Just give me a minute, Argutus... Nikolai, what do you expect me to do?"

"I don't know, go to one of their bases and ask them nicely to stop trying to kill me? Give them a box of chocolates and an apology card for all I care. Just stop them."

"I don't know if you remember, Nikolai, but I'm burned. I can't exactly do anything about it."

"Then I'm done helping you."

"You'll be done helping me after Caesar is dead. Until then, you will keep to the plan."

"Or what?"

"Let's just say I'm being nice right now, and if I don't hear that your targets are dying, I'll make a point to kill you, too. I don't care what it takes. Do what you agreed to do, and then you don't ever have to hear from me again."

There was an audible "CLICK" and Rascalov's words went unheard. After a few moments of silence, he put the radio away and took out his map to find his way back on course.

End of Chapter

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**1817 words.**

**I'm getting bored of "Sneak in, kill, leave". Thus, I decided to shoot for moments after the attack here. I sacrificed 3000 or so words to ensure that I avoid repetition to some extent.**

**Next chapter will be of a certain length (I'm going a new way again and this time, I don't know how long it will be), but we're going to meet the EVIL COURIER OF DOOM! This Courier assisted the Legion during the battle, and Caesar made him a Centurion for it. Oh, also, the Courier is the one that sent Legionaries to attack Milly, under Caesar's orders. Let's see how revenge tastes.**

**Spoiler Alert: I'm going to wander in any direction I want to go for this one. You know, like usual. So it's not a spoiler. Go figure.**


	17. We Shall Be Together in Paradise

**Chapter 16**

**We Shall Be Together In Paradise**

* * *

**"An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."**

**-Mahatma Gandhi**

* * *

It was as she had feared.

The medicine woman in town treated her wound. It was not life-threatening after treatment, but it would leave her sore for weeks. The bullet broke two ribs, and collapsed her "lung".

It was as she had feared.

Her metallic beast was the third and final living creature in the room while she was being treated. She didn't look to be twenty-five yet, and she was expecting a child.

As I carried her, she expressed concern for the unborn's well-being. She nearly suffocated during the initial injury. An unborn is very sensitive to the slightest change. It is why deathclaw mothers protect their young. A mother will not regard her child as being truley "born" until it can fend for itself to some extent. They protect their eggs, and their offspring. Deathclaw unborns are surprisingly very sensitive when they open their eyes for the first time. I've seen young killed by simple creatures like mole rats if the mother is dead or not present.

Thankfully, it was _not_ as she had feared. The child was not harmed by the injury. It was too high, and she was not without air long enough.

I was not welcome in the same room as the girl until the first day was up. I am a creature that no sane human trusts.

This woman, my savior, however... she was different.

I believe the word is "psychotic". When most people see me, they either run or shoot at me. Typically, they shoot at me, as they know they cannot outrun me.

My savior, though... she sobbed before me, and then spoke with me, and finally partnered with me to rid this land of the tyrant that took my mind.

My father would love to meet her. He, however, is many kilometers away, either studying humanity further in his old age, or perhaps he has died. I do not know.

He left me with the capability of rational thought, human speech, and a fascination with human behavior. It is my wish to see humans and deathclaws work side by side.

No, not my lesser-minded brethren. The intelligent deathclaws that are either survivors of the massacre (which number either at one or two), or my brothers and sisters, which may or may not live in other parts of the wasteland today.

My father had the same wish, if what I learned of him is correct (a man he travelled with spoke highly of him to me before I was captured). My father was a scholar of humanity, often hiding his true form with a cloak, excusing such actions as a means of "hiding a horrific mutation".

He considered himself a human in a beast's body. We are at odds here. I am proud to be a deathclaw. I am strong, I am fast, I am agile, _and_ I am smart enough to think rational thoughts (very few animals can). Still, I do not hide who I am. I embrace it. If I was supposed to be a human, I would be one right now. I believe we are who we are meant to be based on present conditions. I am a deathclaw, therefore that is what I am meant to be.

Alas, I digress. My curiosity for humankind was suppressed when I was forbidden from entering the room with the human that saved me. I longed to see how humanity licked its wounds.

Of the few humans that met me before my enslavement, those that did not attack me tended to treat me as an animal, and only after observing my human-like behaviors did they treat me as an equal. I was called a "good boy" on numerous occasions. These names did not bother me much. My instinct told me to appreciate the names. They meant I was praiseworthy, and these lucky, intelligent beings were above me. This woman and my father's old friend were the only two that spoke to me as an equal.

I was finally able to see her when she came outside. I approached cautiously and she smiled at me wearily.

"Thank you for taking me here, Argutus. I'm sorry they didn't let you in to see me."

I shook my head, which was one way humans say "think nothing of it".

She sighed, and smiled gently at the land beyond this town. Her dog eyed me distrustfully.

"I never stick around in towns I liberate. It's nice to see that the Legion didn't really get a chance to make much progress here anyway."

We were both silent for several seconds. I felt the dog's eyes on me still, and on the rare occasion that I glanced at him, I could see his morose stare. It was as if he tired of my presence. He said nothing to me, though. All I could gather is he did not want to see me. I wondered if he thought I was going to do something regrettable.

"Anyway..."

I was jolted out of my thoughts when she spoke up again. She looked back at the building she'd been housed in.

"I'm supposed to stay overnight to make sure I'm alright, and then I'm moving on. I have a question for you, Argutus..."

"What is it?" I asked. She frowned at me.

"My horse was killed. Fortitude was killed. Even so, I'm intent on completing my mission."

"Which is?"

"To kill the man that leads the Legion."

I smiled. It sounded like a noble idea.

"Would you want to accompany me as far as New Vegas? It's my final stop before Caesar's camp."

I didn't even need to think about it. My father travelled with a wandering human such as this woman, and now I was going to do the same. If she didn't ask, I would've asked. She was my savior.

She was my master.

"I owe you my life. Had you not come along, I'd continue to be a slave to their will... so of course I will travel with you."

I saw the dog visibly slump lower. I didn't know what his problem was, but I wasn't going to antagonize him. I'm sure he had his reasons for the passive-aggressive movements, actions, and looks.

The next morning, when she was given leave, we were off. She was excused of any possible medical bills, likely because she saved the city from the corrosive influence of what the humans call "Caesar's Legion".

Initially, our trip was silent. There were few words between any of us, and progress was slow without running.

We did not cover fifteen miles on the first day. We kept having to stop to rest the girl. Her dog and I could keep moving longer than her. Humans do not need to hunt regularly, and do not experience starvation enough to understand true exhaustion. Perhaps these are just thoughts of mine regarding a "culture" not my own.

After that first day, I offered to carry her, as well as her equipment. She insisted on carrying the equipment, but I talked her into allowing me to carry her. It would cut the trip down significantly, and in the wastes we were currently in, I did not want to be idle. Besides that, it was better that she held the equipment so my paws were free to defend us from any potential hostiles.

Between settlements, the wasteland tends to be nearly empty. The population of creatures other than radroaches is too small to be encountered often in the open. You might find one or two of any living creature, perhaps a herd of eight or more, but you'll never find exceptionally large numbers continuously in one area, unless it's some kind of settlement.

We thankfully continued in the manner which we travelled on the second day. I carried her. I continued carrying her throughout the days, as they melted into a week, and that week melted into two, then three, and then...

We were in the vicinity of the man she wanted to kill. We'd opted to stop that night to discuss her plan.

We did not speak too much during the walk. Every so often, when we _did_ speak, she'd call me "Cord" by mistake, and then catch herself, and I'd see the dull ache of a broken heart in her eyes; it was a wound that looked to be well healed, but still a wound.

It was through her dog that I learned who Cord was. As the weeks passed, the metal dog opened up to me. No, we did not become friends, and we did not become rivals. He simply grew a little more comfortable with my presence. I no longer bothered him so.

He told me Cord was "a member of their family now five months dead", and that I reminded them of him. I asked him how I reminded him of this late member of their family, and he told me I had his shape.

I did not say these things while our travelling companion was awake. These conversations were after dark.

I minded my tongue around the dog. He warned me early on that he had an absolutely horrendous temper, and that I should choose my words regarding their late friend very carefully. I had no intention of slander. After hearing a little of what this "Cord" did, I was ashamed that I could not meet him. Imagine, another deathclaw like me... one that can appreciate humanity, one that can travel with humans... the possibilities would have been endless.

Once we finally closed the distance between us and the camp (it now being no more than a half hour's travel away), I discussed the plan with the woman.

"What do you know of this man?" I asked her. She began pulling papers she'd likely gathered during her travels from her pack.

"I have great intel on him, but I don't know how much of it is accurate."

"Explain."

"His name is Holden Lee, also known as "Judge" Lee. He was a package courier for years, having delivered various items for clients from California to the Divide. In January of 2281, he was captured and shot in the head just outside a small settlement called 'Goodsprings'. The medical report suggests critical damage to the frontal lobe of his brain, as well as the loss of function in his right eye, where the bullet entered."

I pawed at the papers she now spread on the ground and she lightly slapped my arm.

"Stop that, you'll muss them. The information I've given you so far is good. It matches up with news on the radio at the time as well as a report filed during my time with the Brotherhood of Steel. After that, however, this story gets iffy."

"Elaborate."

"Lee allegedly hunted down the man that shot him, met the hermit Robert Edwin House inside the casino the Lucky 38, singlehandedly activated a nuclear warhead and fired it at a major NCR stronghold in California (original reports suggested an impact in the Mojave), killed House under the orders of Caesar, performed brain surgery on the so called "Son of Mars", and he supposedly killed a hundred NCR Rangers in the first twenty minutes of Hoover Dam."

I stared, and she continued.

"It's acceptable that he hunted down the man that shot him, and it's known that someone entered the Lucky 38 and later killed House, but there is no evidence to suggest that Lee was in the Divide at the time the nuclear warhead was fired, though he certainly had cause to attack the NCR, having cozied up to the Legion. Whether or not he performed brain surgery is not known, and the number of NCR Rangers he killed is highly exaggerated, the real number likely being four or five. Most accounts suggest his running from battle, just to get into the heart of the NCR stationed at Hoover Dam and cause problems."

"What does that mean of him now?"

She sighed, spread the papers, and eventually tossed them.

"I don't know. He's not rusty, if that's what you're worried about. He supposedly hunts deathclaws for sport, cleans them, and either stuffs them, or makes them into furniture."

"Does that mean we have a way in?"

She shook her head.

"If I send you as a distraction, he'll just kill you from a distance. He uses firearms, not close quarters, and all this is, of course, assuming any of this crap is actually _right_."

"Then what can we do?"

"Lee supposedly has a soft spot for cyberdogs. If I send Dogmeat to the gate, I can scout, search for him, and maybe even rip his throat out if he is asleep. Then, I can sneak Dogmeat back here, and we'll escape before the guard can find us."

"What if they _do_ find him?"

She looked down at him with a smile.

"It's like I said. He's got a soft spot for cyberdogs. If Dogmeat is caught, odds are he won't be shot on sight."

I could tell he trusted her absolutely. He seemed to smile up at her and he licked her chin. I was silent, pondering what my role might be if this goes wrong.

I would certainly carry her to the base as quickly as I could. That went without saying. After that, though... there were likely many guards in the base. I'd fight with her, and do everything I could to get inside, and then we could free him.

This is all, of course, if her plan goes south. When I looked down at her again, she was holding Dogmeat's head in her hands and staring into his eyes.

"If anything happens, you be very careful."

_"I expect you to watch her with your life while I am away," _said he. These words were uttered to me, not her.

"I will protect her with my life," I whispered under my breath. The girl did not hear me, but he nodded his approval.

When I looked back at her, she was putting some large goggles on her face.

"Watch out for any hostiles here, Argutus."

I nodded, and the woman was motionless. Dogmeat's false eye flashed, and he looked back at me. He almost seemed to smile, and then he turned and darted towards the base.

_**Revolution! Revolution!**_

I would not dare to try and take advantage of Dogmeat by overusing this power. It is his body. He deserves control of it as often as possible. As a matter of fact, destroying these goggles was a plan of mine once all of this was over with, if, of course, I was still alive.

I shivered while running. Suppose I did not destroy these goggles, and they were stolen from me? Someone could hypothetically take them and use Dogmeat against me. That is, hurt me, or even kill me with his teeth- those which are mine at this moment. Philosophy.

I can't imagine what he'd do if he came to after such an action.

I wouldn't be so irresponsible that I would lose these goggles. Additionally, they only have the three mile range.

When I got to the camp, it was seemingly empty. There was nobody guarding the front gate (it was ajar), and nobody was stationed in the watchtowers. I stalked forward silently, looking all around and taking advantage of Dogmeat's cybernetic eye as I wandered.

I expected an ambush, and it gave me pause just outside the gate. Through Dogmeat's eye, I picked up no sign of life hiding in ambush beyond the gate. Sure enough, once I passed through it, I was fine.

The buildings were empty, the tents were cleared, and the camp was completely silent. There weren't even mongrels to worry about, though there were a few crosses with dead Legionaries upon them. Above each of their heads was a sign that read "Dissenter be damned", a popular phrase used on doomed traitors in the wastes.

I let out a low whine. Crucifixion is a torture I would not wish upon Caesar, Autumn, or Eden.

As I padded through the camp, I heard nothing. The cybernetic eye picked up a heat signature at the center of the camp. It was the shape of a man, and he was sitting in a chair just beyond the tent I was now behind. I slowly walked around the camp to meet my target, and...

When I put one of my front paws down, it sunk into the dirt a little. I looked down, and there was an explosion. I let out a loud yelp and was sent careening to the side, sparks now surging from my metallic body. The cybernetic eye failed, and the last thing I saw was the husk of an EMP mine.

The machines that keep a cyberdog mobile are vulnerable to an electromagnetic pulse. The life-support, however, is different. It is protected from such devices. Dogmeat fainted and I was forced out of his mind, and I knew that his body was rebooting.

Suddenly I was aware of my own screams, and I felt something yank my head forward. The goggles were torn from my face by Argutus, and thrown a few feet away, sparking all the while. I fell forward on my hands and I looked up at Argutus. He knelt by my side and put a paw on my back.

"Are you alright?" he asked. I nodded, still gasping for breath.

"We have to go. We have to go now! Dogmeat's in there with Lee. I know he's there."

"How many men?"

I'd started walking by now.

"Just him!"

Argutus came up behind me and lifted me off my feet. He started running for the base. I drew my handgun, took the safety off, and I was set down just inside the gate.

The trip was nothing, there was still no sign of an ambush, and I did not see Judge searching for me. I _did_ keep an eye on the ground for any additional mines. EMPs might not cause severe damage to someone that was not cybernetic, but I couldn't be too careful.

I looked up at Argutus.

"Go watch the front gate and let me know if you see any Legionaries coming."

He nodded.

"By your orders."

I kept my handgun up and my eyes all over the place as I retraced Dogmeat's steps. As I slowly turned the corner again, I let out a yelp. There was a gunshot, and my pistol was on the ground an insulting distance away from me. I whirled back around the tent to avoid any further bullets, and I pulled the Beretta Tomcat from my ankle holster.

I heard a sigh, and then I heard eleven more bullets being fired, this time at a wall across from me. There were a few seconds of silence, and then I saw a pistol fly across the open space and hit the wall. At this point, I had to signal to Argutus that I was alright, and then I poked my head out from behind cover and saw my target sit in a chair before a fire with another sigh. He held a cigar to his lips again, and gently stroked Dogmeat's... dome. My dog was still unconscious, but he moved under the contact.

I slowly broke from cover and approached Lee, never lowering my gun. He didn't acknowledge my presence, choosing instead to stare at the fire he had going.

He was not dressed in Centurion armor. Rather, he was wearing a soiled white blazer and cargo pants. His hair was brown (grey began to touch it, likely from stress by a cruel wasteland. I wasn't twenty five and I already saw a few grey hairs), and one of his eyes was brown while the other was blue. The brown eye was fake, and not fitted correctly to his socket, and it was always in a squint. I saw the scars from his near death experience, including what remained of the hole in his head as well as burns along the right side of his face.

The intel was correct on another point: he _was_ good with guns.

He took the cigar from his mouth again and looked down at my dog.

"I thought I'd disarmed all of those mines. You always forget the ones closest to the ones you love."

I glared at him.

"Do you know who I am?"

He took a drag on his cigar.

"You're empty and full at the same time. I envy your indecisiveness."

"Where are your men?"

He leaned back in his chair, and still did not look at me.

"A Legionary will follow any order. Lanius once killed a hundred Legionaries at attention because his coffee was black. If a higher up desires your death, you accept. To answer your question, I sent them unarmed into a nearby deathclaw sanctuary, and I ordered them to remain there without retreat."

"And they listened?"

He tossed his cigar into the fire.

"I felt I owed you a favor. I _did_ send the squad that killed your friend. I assume you're here for retribution."

My blood ran cold, but before I could react, he continued.

"I _did_ try to send them with handguns and one submachine gun because you amuse me. If I'd gotten what I wanted, your deathclaw might have been mildly injured, but he'd have survived the attack. No, instead Caesar called for high power weapons through a foreign arms dealer. He had them sent to my squad around me."

I continued to stare.

"He doesn't trust me. He shouldn't. Still, he knows he can't kill me. I saved his life, and he owes me that."

Finally, Lee looked up at me.

"Listen, can you do me a favor? Can you shoot me in the head please? Try to destroy my brain stem. Shoot as many times as it takes. Please. Just kill me."

"You are Holden Lee," I finally said. "It is your fault that the Legion is this powerful today."

"No, no... you don't see. It's not my fault. I suffer because of Benny. It's Benny. He shot me. He made the Legion this powerful today."

I was silent again. Dogmeat slowly came to and leapt to my side, growling lowly at the man. Lee continued.

"He's dead, but he did it. He did it through me by shooting me and leaving me and then leading me to find him for the redemption of me. Don't you understand?"

I eyed the scar on his head again.

"Your frontal lobe is not just damaged... it's totally destroyed."

"The sly suited gentleman watches the Enclave plan. You shouldn't have done that... Oh, my God, Rex! I miss you!"

"...You're not a Legionary enthusiast, are you? You're... you're nearly brain dead."

"Mommy? Oh, no... don't do it."

He violently hit himself in the forehead with his own fist and I jumped.

"Please, you have to shoot me. Do it!"

"I..."

"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, but I have no bird and I have no bush. My God, I hope Rex is doing okay... hello, boy..."

This man wasn't a cold, calculating individual that the reports made him out to be. He was absolutely nuts. The real Holden Lee likely died in 2281 when he was initially shot. All that is left... is an ill shell. He was completely unpredictable. He may start off docile, but that can change at any time.

"Please, you have to shoot. You have to stop this. Kill me. Kill me. The Legion... kill us. We. It. Us. He. She. We are all brothers and sisters. You, I... me, we. Me, she. She, I."

I stared at him for several seconds.

"You really wish to die. I can see that. It would be a relief if I were to kill you right here, and right now."

He stared back at me.

"The end always justifies the means, Serial Number 4492958. The end _always _justifies the means."

I put my Beretta Tomcat back in my ankle holster, and I recovered my pistol (remarkably undamaged save for a mild dent).

"I'll not be granting you your own wish. In the end, you won't have any influence anyway."

"No. You can't just leave. You have to kill me. That's what you're here for. You have to do it."

"And yet I'm walking away."

I turned the corner in spite of the man's shouts. He tried to appeal to my good nature, reminding me that he killed all of his men for just such an encounter. That didn't change the speed of my walk. I waved Argutus to my side as I left the camp, and he turned his head and looked back at the tents.

"What did you do? Nothing?"

There was a deafening gunshot, and Dogmeat's ears perked up while Argutus eyed the camp.

"Nothing is always something," I said. I glanced at my Pip Boy and got onto Argutus' back.

Next stop: New Vegas.

End of Chapter

* * *

**4,183 words.**

**Yeah, pretty underwhelming. That was the Courier that Milly just met, and he's, well... cuckoo for Coco Puffs.**

**Milly no longer has any targets between her and New Vegas. She will be heading for rebel controlled Freeside next. We'll be seeing a few characters from New Vegas on her next chapter.**

**First, Nikolai. He has one more target to go. It should be a chapter of a certain length as well. I have no idea how long this one will be.**

**Oh, and right now, we're about six chapters from conclusion (including next chapter, without the Trivia chapter). **


	18. Imperfections

**Chapter 17**

**Imperfections**

* * *

**"Before I refuse to take your questions, I have an opening statement."**

**-Ronald Regan**

* * *

He mentally cursed himself for failing to finish with his targets before the whore. It felt as though he was rusty, having lost time to a girl that until recently had no skill in sniping.

By this point, word had gotten around that Legionary camps were systematically being thrown into disarray. Bounties were on the heads of both predators: A reward of Legionary coin and fame on the girl, and a reward of bottlecaps and high tech weaponry on the man.

Their trails were covered well. Nikolai made an effort to cover his tracks to near total obscurity in some areas, and to make his trail a little too obvious in others (to make any pursuers consider the possibility of an ambush). He remained a step ahead of any pursuers until he reached his final target before New Vegas.

The girl had it a little easier. Having partnered herself with another deathclaw, the prints left in the dirt confused her pursuers. Some believed that her pet had actually _survived_ their initial assault, and she was still with him. Reports back to Caesar and Lanius contradicted early reports of the first attack on the girl, and only confounded the Legion further.

Regarding the Brotherhood Whore, the order was "Shoot to Kill". She was no longer to be taken alive. Legionaries would shoot on sight. Nikolai, however, had a Kill/Capture on his head. If it was possible, he'd be captured and interrogated.

It was apparently possible, because of his current predicament.

Being Spetsnaz, Nikolai was trained to resist interrogation. Torture was frowned upon, since it tended to get the easiest lie to make the pain stop. Instead, Nikolai was thrown into a dark cell after he was found. His hands were bound behind his back and he was stripped of his guns and his knife, which were held in a locked bin in his cell.

They knew Nikolai wouldn't take his weapons without knowing where he was. If he somehow broke free with his weapons and went out the front door, he'd be gunned down almost instantaneously.

He understood the danger, and so he sat in his chair, biding his time. Meanwhile, he worked on the rope binding his arms with a rusty nail jutting out of the chair. He stopped the moment his interrogator (not the man he was supposed to kill) stepped into the room.

The door was shut and locked again, and the man slowly approached and sat across the table from Nikolai. For a few moments, no words were uttered. Nikolai continued slowly working on the ropes, cutting into his palms as well. He fought not to wince.

"It's finally come to this," said the interrogator. "We have one of you, and I'll not be as foolish as the others have been."

"So you acknowledge that the other scum we've killed are fools?"

"I agree. They were scum. They needed to die. We needed new leadership. So thank you. Once the girl is killed, we'll be stronger than ever."

Nikolai stared.

"Killed?" he asked.

"Yes. You don't think we'd be so weak in reality, do you?"

"You have a plan?"

"You don't think we'd be so stupid as to explain, do you?"

Nikolai was silent. The man smacked the table.

"Talk. We'll start off easy: Where are you two headed? The Fort?"

Nikolai leaned forward a little bit and spit at the man. He was rewarded with a black eye.

"The Fort?" the man asked. Nikolai tried to kick at him in response, and he lost a tooth as a consequence.

"_The Fort?_" the man asked, this time angirly. Nikolai shook his head.

"The Fort? No. No, we planned on removing all influence first. We'd leave Vegas for last, after every other Legionary encampment was ruined."

Nikolai began to resist the interrogation using the ancient art of storytelling. He leaned forward in his seat.

"There was a man, you see... he wanted the demise of the Legion for what it did to his wife."

The interrogator faltered. "You don't mean that bastard First Recon guy, do you?"

"No, worse."

"Who?"

"Andrei Faustin. His wife come here from Russia as missionary. She was raped and enslaved. Faustin found out. If we don't report to his contacts in Seattle, he'll just keep sending more and more until the Legion is dealt with. What fool would do all of this because a beast was killed? There's much more than that."

The man opened his mouth to speak, but Nikolai kept going.

"Faustin wanted us to meet his partner, I think his name Anson. I only met him once. He was short, like you. He had thinning blonde hair, a thick blonde mustache, and he wore sunglasses and an ugly sweater vest. The sunglasses weren't even that nice. They looked like a cheap brand someone made with parts scavenged off the ground."

"This-"

"Can you imagine? He actually wasted his time finding two lenses to fix the sunglasses with."

"But what-"

"They didn't even match entirely. One was brown, and the other was almost orange. They were scratched up so badly that I don't know how he saw through them."

"And-"

"Come to think of it, he reminded me of another suspicious man named Dean. Dean... what was last name... Goodman? _Da_, Dean Goodman. He was tall, but skinny, like a pole. He have scar above left eye. Isn't that strange?"

"Listen, let-"

"He always tell me when we meet "Faustin's damned dog keeps trying to hump my leg". He was big time complainer..."

The next three hours went on like that. Nikolai just kept talking. And talking. And talking... and talking...

The more he spoke, the less chance the interrogator had to question. Plus, he (the interrogator) ended up walking out of the interrogation with a notebook full of bullshit Nikolai pulled out of thin air.

However, Nikolai got so into the storytelling that he slowly stopped working on the ropes. When he realized the error, he cursed and kept going again, relieved that he could wince a little as he did so without eyes on him.

He was aware that his blood was likely beginning to pool on the ground, and he knew that if he was caught, there would be trouble. He had to work quicker, but he couldn't work too quick, because there was always the chance of the rotted wood losing the nail.

Not being able to view his progress did harm to his resolve. He had no knowledge of how far through the rope he was.

Dean Goodman was the name of a man Rascalov shot in the head during an encounter at a bar eight years earlier. The only part of the description he gave of Goodman that was accurate was the scar above his left eye. He imagined the bullet that entered the back of his head and left his eyeball hanging out by a length of tendon left _some_ sort of mark.

Nikolai didn't know much about Goodman. They were strangers. One might say "hello" to the other from time to time in passing, but that was it. Nikolai did have to admit that Dean's wife was very attractive. In a drunken haze, he'd tried to force her to the back of a bar. It was not the first time an angry woman kicked him in the groin.

No, but it was the first time he'd gotten kicked by a woman wearing steel-toed boots. He didn't get up for the remainder of the night. A vulture actually landed on an old telephone pole nearby, watching, thinking he must've been dying, or else he wouldn't have been so still.

He did die a little, in a sense. It took a kick to the ribs the next morning to will him up again. Nikolai never went back to that bar again, since Goodman's wife frequented it.

He got through half of the rope before someone barged back in. He froze, and for a moment feared he'd been caught. It was the same man as earlier. This time, he came with someone else. That "someone else" was bigger than Nikolai by a head, and stronger than him, too. Nikolai watched him as he was introduced by the interrogator as "Bear", and he continued watching as Bear moved the table Nikolai sat at with one arm... over to the opposite wall with a loud crash.

"I will speak the truth only to DeWitt," was all he said. He would repeat his statement after Bear popped his left eye. He would repeat his statement again when Bear nearly gave him a concussion. He would repeat it one final time when Bear sliced open his cheek with a knife.

It was only after his fourth request that his interrogator left the room. At this point, Nikolai successfully cut through his ropes. He'd bled profusely from the wounds Bear left him with, so the blood on the ground was not suspect.

When the door slammed shut and Nikolai was left with Bear, clutching a knife coated with the Russian's blood, he finally released the rope and quietly stood up. Bear was watching the door, as if preparing to drop to a knee when DeWitt made himself known. Silently, Nikolai picked up another nearby chair and smashed it against Bear's neck as hard as he could.

Instead of knocking him unconscious, Bear stumbled forward a step, and then slowly righted himself and turned around to leer at Nikolai. All was quiet for a few moments.

Nikolai was suddenly on the receiving end of a barrage of slices. His instinct told him to control the knife hand, which would have been fine advice... if Bear didn't seem to have the strength of six men in one arm. Nikolai ended up with gashes all along his torso, and he was losing blood at a steady enough pace.

Bear was merely toying with him. He could've stabbed him at any moment. His attacks slowly pushed Nikolai to the wall, and the Russian came up with an idea. With his back against the wall, and Bear preparing to finish him off, Nikolai did something he wasn't proud of. He emulated Goodman's wife, minus the steel-toed boots.

Unfortunately, the attack was only enough to make Bear flinch. It gave Nikolai enough time to whirl around behind him and wrap his arm around the walking tank's neck.

Size is irrelevant. Enough pressure on the carotid artery will knock anyone unconscious in seconds. The choke hold Nikolai employed required all of his strength, which was waning as he lost blood. Bear stumbled around for a few seconds before sitting down in the chair Nikolai was originally bound to (the fall enough to slice the Russian's leg open on the same nail that freed him). It was in that chair that the man lost consciousness.

Once Bear was dealt with, Nikolai searched him for the keys to the bin his belongings were housed in, and he found it. He took no time to mock his enemy, knowing that his target would likely be discussing the terms of what was supposed to be a conversation with Nikolai, and as such would arrive shortly.

After his escape from the Brotherhood, while he was still off-course, Nikolai stumbled upon a small village built up around a Nuka Cola plant called "Coke-Erie Village". The village was dominated by children, and it was well defended but apparently rarely attacked by raiders, and almost never by Super Mutants. They agreed to trade with the Russian if they could play with his horse while he was around, and he agreed, deciding that killing a town full of children would not bode well for his ammunition stores, and he had a feeling they were expecting him to do something like that.

While in Coke-Erie, Rascalov was warned not to overstay his welcome, as "grown-ups who come to the village and stay too long tend to become monsters," as so eloquently said by their leader, Mido. When he off-handedly asked why that was so, the kids mentioned a reason behind Super Mutants rarely attacking them, calling it "The Trade". They offer long-term visitors over the age of twelve to the Super Mutants, and in exchange, the Super Mutants don't bother them. It was not a perfect relationship (since Super Mutants occasionally forget that they have a cease-fire), but it allowed Coke-Erie to continue to exist.

During his very brief stay in Coke-Erie, Nikolai managed to purchase ammunition for his rifle and pistol, some food supplies, a bottle of Vod Kanockers, and seven bricks of C-4 Plastic Explosives, along with blasting caps, and detonators, all in exchange for some candy he had in his backpack and an exceptionally shiny bottle cap.

Just because he wouldn't kill the children in the town didn't mean he wouldn't swindle them.

The C-4 was originally bought as part of a bargain. He restocked on everything, and even got a stable plastic explosive for some random crap he happened to be holding. He intended on using it to blow random things up for his own amusement, like old radios, books, and maybe a few feral ghouls.

Instead, he was rigging most of his C-4 on Bear's unconscious body. He hid the explosives under the gigantic man's shirt, and he walked to the back of the building he was in.

The remaining C-4 was no more than a thimble full. It was placed in a crack in the rear wall. The small amount would not make a loud sound, but Nikolai imagined it would weaken the wall enough for him to escape.

The detonation was soft, as he'd hoped, but his target was near the building.

"What the hell are you doing in there, Bear? If that man is dead, I swear..."

DeWitt flung open the door and saw Bear unconscious in the seat Nikolai was supposed to be in. The Russian had just knocked down the wall and was whistling for his horse.

The target drew a pistol and took aim at Nikolai, but he got too close to Bear. It was the last mistake the man would ever make.

The explosion was deafening, but it managed to take the heat off Nikolai as he galloped away. Legionaries could be heard swarming over the blast site, barking orders at one another and trying to identify exactly how many people were killed in the blast (they wondered if Nikolai failed to escape).

Rascalov didn't waste a moment. He was a half mile away from the camp by the time the Legionaries sorted out what just happened. He looked back over his shoulder at the smoke rising from the camp in the distance, but he said nothing to it. Instead, he took out his radio, and grimaced, intent on treating his wounds once he put a reasonable distance between himself and the camp.

"Whore..."

There was no response at first. Nikolai's brow furrowed into anger.

"Whore..."

There was still no response. The man pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Brotherhood Whore! Answer your damn-"

"I'm up! I'm up... Wh... what is it, Nikolai?" asked a very sleepy sounding woman. Nikolai shook his head.

"Oh, you've got... whatever. I'm done. I'll be in Freeside soon."

"You killed your final target?" asked the girl, now sounding wide awake.

"I blew him to kingdom come with C-4."

The Whore whistled into the walkie-talkie. "Nice touch... how long until you get there?"

Nikolai shrugged, and then mentally cursed himself for being stupid.

"I don't know... three weeks, maybe? Less? Time will pass between the end of this call and my arrival. I know that."

"Well, I'm nearly there. I'll probably get to the gates by tomorrow or the day after. So far, I'm encountering some resistance. More than on the way here, anyway."

"How much more?" asked the Russian while riding. He slowly rolled his shoulder, and thought more of his wounds.

"I think Caesar called for reinforcements from the west. I had to fight my way through a Legionary checkpoint to get here, and I've been running into patrols. I mean, it's not _heavy_ resistance, but..."

"And in this moderate Legionary presence, you're sleeping..."

There was a brief pause.

"I'm a light sleeper," she said half-heartedly.

"Fine, whatever. I kill anybody that gets in my way."

"I wouldn't expect anything less" was the response. She told him that it seemed like the trouble she was running into was becoming less and less frequent as she got closer to Freeside.

Nikolai saw no reason to respond. He had his plan all ready in his head. First, he'd treat his injuries (his wounded eye would require three weeks to heal appropriately), and then he'd proceed.

As estimated, it would be a little less than half a year since the Whore's pet's demise at the hands of the Legion when the hunter and she would rendevous in Freeside.

The Legion is a group of simple-minded bullys blown up to be big and tough. Someone was going to be taking them down a few notches.

End of Chapter

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**2,870 words.**

**Nikolai cutting through his binds while being interrogated is a nod to a scene in _Burn Notice_. **

**"Coke-Erie Village" is a reference to Kokiri Village in _The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time_, as is Mido. It is said that non-forest folk that enter the Lost Woods in _Ocarina of Time_ will turn into monsters. Except Link. Because... Because he's not. Except for when he is, like in _Twilight Princess_. Wolves are fun, except for when you're around them and they hate you.**

**What the hell am I talking about?**

**There are about five chapters left, including next, but discluding trivia. Once this is done with, I'm probably going to stop writing for Fallout. I need to write for something that's actually cheery for once. Like _Resident Evil_. That's some cheery shit right there.**

**Next chapter covers Milly's arrival in Rebel-Controlled Freeside, as well as some bargaining between her and the rebellion's leader.**


	19. The Most Dangerous Game

**Chapter 18**

**The Most Dangerous Game**

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**"The only thing that will redeem mankind is cooperation."**

**-Bertrand Russell**

* * *

It was six months since I killed my second Legionary Centurion, having taken advantage of his poor decision making. It took six months to finally get within the vicinity of Freeside, the town allegedly controlled by rebels to Caesar's will.

There was no radio to calm us other than an "S.O.S" signal on a loop, and though we were capable of handling ourselves for a long while upon our invasion of Caesar's doorstep, I eventually ran low on ammunition stores, as well as supplies.

After the second day without food (we found a small stream of fresh water that would likely lead to a Legionary encampment if I followed it, which I did not intend on doing for too long), Argutus insisted on going out to find something for us to eat. I told him not to, and I tried to convince him that it was simply too dangerous, and though he listened to me on the first night he tried, he went anyway the second night he offered once I fainted.

He promised me he would be careful and that he would return to me either with or without a kill, but he would not return to me with a Legionary tail.

Dogmeat and I spent time hiding in an old length of pipe, likely used to transport water or oil in the pre-war era. The shelter would become sweltering as the heat of the day wore on, and we would be forced out after only minutes at a time to get a drink from the stream.

I wasn't able to boil the water to kill off anything that could make us sick, as a fire could compromise our position. Even if the smoke blended with the sky, I didn't want to take the risk here of all places. Instead, I resorted to filling bottles of water and then letting them get warm in the pipe with us. It was far from a boil, but it served as some sense of security, even though such an action likely killed nothing.

Still, none of us got sick from the water in the long run, so we were lucky enough, I suppose. Argutus managed to come back with what appeared to be a giant bug... a praying mantis, to be precise.

I hate bugs.

I _hate_ bugs.

_I HATE BUGS!_

They're so gross... at least the ones I became accustomed to in D.C... I've had my share of radroach infestations in my home, and I wished Wadsworth was there with me to take care of this bug, too... until I realized Argutus had already killed it, and was at that point attempting to pull a leg off with a look of absolute starvation on his face.

And then... once he pulled the leg off, he held it out to me, eyeing me expectantly.

I eyed the appendage, and then looked up at Argutus' face.

"...oh, ugh!"

He tilted his head, not seeming to understand my hesitation.

"What? Do you not like the color?"

"N...no... it's just... ew!"

Mole rat? That's okay. I can clean and cook mole rat meat, and once you get past the taste, it's filling. That's fine. Mirelurk meat? Delicious, and of course I can prepare one of them for a meal, too... but a slimy, nasty, crunchy, _disgusting_ bug? No. I'll sooner starve.

Argutus still did not see my point. Dogmeat eyed me with irritation, as if to say "Just shut up and eat it"... but no!

"Now, now... look, the color blue gives me a headache. You can be honest. Do you not like the color green?" asked Argutus, overthinking my aversion to the icky bug again. I shook my head rapidly.

"No... it's just... a... bug," I finished lamely. He blinked.

"And?"

"They're so... so gross."

"You realize that you need to eat in order to survive, yes?"

I nodded. "I'll eat anything but bugs and humans."

Dogmeat eyed me in suspicion, as if to say "Anything? Even me?"

"If you do not eat this leg, you will grow weaker and weaker, and you will not be strong enough to battle Caesar."

"Just let me look. Maybe I can sneak into a camp and loot some food..."

He crossed his arms, one paw still clutching the leg, and eyed me half-heartedly.

"That's suicide, and you know it."

Dogmeat nudged me towards the leg. Bugs were to me what baths were to Dogmeat.

Once I still didn't take the leg, Argutus let out an impatient sigh.

"If you do not eat this, you will slowly starve, and if you die, do you know what will happen?"

"What?"

With the paw that clutched the bug's leg, Argutus gestured to the corpse.

"You would no longer have to eat the insects. The insects would eat you."

After he said that, and I freaked out as quietly as I could, I begrudgingly took the stupid bug leg and started munching on it as quickly as I could. As I did so, Argutus and Dogmeat ate the rest of the bug quietly, and then Argutus went out to go find another for himself (Deathclaws eat a lot of food).

I nibbled at the appendage for as long as I could. I had never fought Three Dog's "Good Fight" as hard as I did during those long minutes.

After we all ate (and I did everything I could to keep it down), we were off again. After that, it was another day and a half of travelling before we reached Freeside.

We didn't expect Legionary presence to become stronger as we closed in on the rebel territory, and it didn't. Likewise, we didn't expect a welcome invitation into the gates of Freeside, and we... didn't get one.

No, instead there was a deafening explosion, and Argutus let out a pained shout. He whirled around and did the best he could to set me down gently.

I had no ammunition for the SRS, my Steyr AUG was several states away, still very broken, and all I had left was my sidearm and my Beretta Tomcat. Still, Dogmeat, Argutus and I dove behind some boulders, and when I looked at Argutus, I started taking into account the sound of the explosion.

I was instantly back in D.C, watching Cord get shot to death by a Barrett M82. My eyes shot to Argutus, and I saw one of his paws clutching a wound on his other arm. He was gritting his teeth, and he looked to be in a great deal of pain... but if it was a .50 caliber round to a deathclaw's arm... there might be a chance for survival.

Freeside's gate was about one hundred and fifty feet ahead of us, and there was a sniper posted by it. If he was able to hit a sprinting deathclaw... I really didn't want to poke my head out of cover in the same place more than once.

I blindly fired my USP .45 around the boulder for the sake of some kind of suppressing fire, but the explosion that pelted the boulder we hid behind told me such a move did nothing.

"How... much ammunition do you have left?" Argutus asked through clenched teeth. He looked more angry than pained at this point.

"Half mag," I said, at which point I continued my blind fire. I fell behind cover again before there was another explosion.

"Quarter mag," I said. I fired around the side of the boulder as a counter to the sniper I was engaged with. The USP's slide shifted back, and I ejected the mag.

"Out," I said. I tossed the handgun into the dirt before me, and there was another explosion.

The rock we hid behind was either very dense (dense enough to resist .50 caliber rounds), or the rounds our attacker was using were not strong enough to penetrate our cover. We could've been slaughtered at any point otherwise.

Dogmeat, who had his head laying on my leg in defeat, suddenly perked up. He looked up, wide eyed, as if he heard something. Argutus reacted too, but I didn't hear anything.

"What is it?" I whispered. Argutus shushed me.

The onslaught of lead pinning us down ceased. I heard a voice over an intercom.

"Step out from behind the boulder with your hands raised, and slowly approach the gate. If you make any sudden moves, you will be shot..."

I looked over at Argutus' wound, which was thankfully no more than a graze.

"...in the head."

The voice fell silent, and I found my feet slowly, with my hands raised, as was asked of me. Argutus mimicked me, though the movement of his wounded arm caused some irritation. I'd have to dress it if these people weren't about to kill me.

As we approached the gate, it dawned on me that I left my USP .45 in the dirt behind the boulder. I wasn't about to turn around to get it, though.

The metallic door creaked open, and a First Recon sharpshooter greeted us. His dogtag read "Vargas, Manny". I assumed he was the one that was pinning us down.

"You'll have to forgive me. We'd received reports of Legionaries training deathclaws."

"What made you stop firing at us?" I asked. He looked up at a platform above his head, likely where he was firing from.

"You should thank my spotter for that. She has a sharp eye for pretty girls and people The King wants to speak with."

"Are you okay, Miss 101?" asked a voice coming from the platform. A black haired girl with a brown hooded robe poked her head over the edge and looked down at us. She was cute.

I nodded. "Yeah, thanks for talking him down. I didn't like my odds of fighting back with a Tomcat."

She grinned.

"If I could send Vargas sprawling with a punch to that glass jaw of his, you could get a surrender out of him with a pea shooter."

I laughed nervously, and then looked back at Mr. First Recon. He didn't seem amused.

"Okay, that was an isolated incident, Veronica."

"No need to get snippy!"

"I'm not getting snippy!" he shouted, sounding very snippy.

"Look, are you going to take them to see The King, or do I have to do that, too?"

The King... the intel I'd acquired over my long journey suggested he was the "extremely charismatic leader of Freeside's rebels". As the gate slammed shut behind me, I made a mental note to thank him for not giving the order to kill me on sight.

"By the way," said Mr. First Recon. "Name's Manny, but most people just call me Manny."

He held out a hand for me to shake, which I did.

"Hi, I'm... Milly. These are my friends, Dogmeat and Argutus."

Manny didn't seem to react too much to Dogmeat or Argutus, though the latter was glaring daggers at him.

"Hey, I'm sorry for shooting you. Just trying to keep this place safe... can he understand me?"

"Yes, I understand you."

_That_ got Manny to pale.

"Now understand me: I accept why you shot at us... but if you try to bring harm to Milly again, you will answer to me, and the wall has not been built that will keep me from getting you."

I waved a hand down at Argutus to try and calm him. He was in every way as overprotective of me as Dogmeat was.

The surprised look only lasted for so long on Manny's face, and he ignored us all as he escorted us through the streets. All passersby put as much space between themselves and us as possible (such a reaction reminded me of how most people reacted to Cord initially). I wondered why the pretty girl that stopped Manny from killing us didn't react. Maybe she didn't see him from her vantage point, or maybe she'd seen a deathclaw like Argutus before.

I decided to try to remember to ask her if I ever saw her again, which... judging by the very recent call from Nikolai I got, would likely be a few weeks.

There wasn't much different in the streets of Freeside than I would've imagined in any town before the Legion's unprecedented expansion. There was a lot of farm land and crop growth in the walls. They even had a base in the ruins of an old building for the "Followers of the Apocalypse", which was a group dedicated to aiding the sick, teaching the dumb, and raising the orphaned, among other noble goals. They asked for nothing in return, and they did not judge. I saw ghouls, gays, different races and genders when I dropped off Argutus for medical attention later, once I figured out how desperate for supplies we were.

At that point, however, Manny was leading us through the streets still. The town was still totally run down, and reaching high up into the sky were various buildings, each looking surprisingly well-kept. There was no sign of life in those buildings (no lights), but Manny introduced it off-handedly as "New Vegas".

I'd heard of it before, of course, but seeing it personally... it was incredible. It was Sin City. People went there with months worth of caps or cash, and would most often leave with nothing. The Strip was a place that would swallow you up as long as you had money to lose. Seeing it so dead... it was both heart breaking and awe inspiring at the same time.

I was brought to a large building with a neon sign reading "The Kings" on it. I could see a few speakers on the walls that appeared to be in relatively good condition. They looked like they might even still work. Manny must've seen the look on my face, because he told me that The King was "usually blasting music out of those speakers". I asked him if there was something weird about the silence, then, and he told me that he'd rather hear deafening silence than "Love Me Tender" on a loop.

For all intents and purposes, I liked "Love Me Tender" when I was in the Vault. Maintaining electricity output by the Dam and failing to understand how to refuse energy to the Strip were among the only things the Legion got right.

When we got inside the building, I was nearly overwhelmed by the smell of mold and hair gel. Everybody in the building was wearing the same type of outfit: black leather jacket with "The Kings" written on a crown on the back, hair so full of gel that it threatened to stick to the very fabric of space time, and various small arms: pistols, submachine guns, and a few knives.

Anyone not wearing the leather jacket was wearing a plain white t-shirt. There were a few women in the crowd with hair so gelled up that I had a hard time telling them apart from the men. Anyone that saw me said "We are all Kings", and I nodded wordlessly.

Manny patted my arm, and he yanked my mind back from the brink of insanity.

"Hey, let's go. The King is just in that door there..."

He pulled me into a room with a stage in it and various tables and chairs, and I saw one man and one cyberdog in it. Manny went ahead and whispered something to the man, and he turned to look at me. He eyed my companions, my pregnant belly, and he chuckled.

"Wow... I had to see it to believe it. The bane of Caesar really _is_ carrying a fetus."

I scowled as I walked forward. Dogmeat eyed the cyberdog, who eyed him back.

"Is that funny?" I asked. He shook his head.

"No, not funny. Ironic. You're killing off all the MEN of the Legion, yet you needed a man to look the way you do now-"

"I stabbed that man to death."

The man gestured for me to sit in a seat across from him. He ignored my partners after the initial appraisal. He really _was_ about as cool as anyone can get in this crazy world. No, not in the sense of awe-inspiring idol status, but... level-headed, composed, or calm.

I sat in the chair as he desired. I could see Dogmeat sniffing at the other cyberdog, and the cyberdog doing the same. The King glanced down at them.

"Aw, look, Rexie... our new friend brought you someone to play with."

Rexie barked in reply, and Dogmeat's ears perked up, and he stared wide eyed at the dog before him, as if he was told something surprising.

I sighed deeply.

"Allow me to introduce myself: I am... The King."

I already knew that, but I acted like I cared for the sake of a good first impression. I didn't want to get kicked out of this safe haven.

"Oh, wow. This is so surreal. My name is Milly, the dog is Dogmeat, and the deathclaw is Argutus. It's a pleasure to meet you," I said, trying desperately to sound surprised and happy to meet him.

I didn't hate him. Of course not. I just didn't care if he called himself The King, The Queen, or William Tell's Less Fortunate Son.

The King looked almost exactly like everybody else in his building save for the dogs, me, Argutus, and Manny: His hair was so greased up with gel that it looked like it was screaming in agony, and he wore the same white t-shirt, this time under a white blazer.

"Oh, please. Pleasure's all mine. I've heard that you've been causing quite a number on the Legion. Some people think you're taking on two camps at a time. Is that true?"

"Not entirely."

I didn't want to give out too much of what we've been doing. We still had to kill Caesar and his current Legate.

"Well, thank you for what you've done on your way here. You're welcome in these walls for as long as you need."

I nodded. "Thank you... but my deathclaw does not give you pause? _My deathclaw friend,_ I mean."

I glanced up at Argutus. He was staring out the door at the other people, and didn't make a move to indicate that he heard me. I wanted to treat him like I treated Cord, and I never referred to Cord as "my deathclaw" if I could help it.

"No, we heard that your friend survived the attack at D.C. He's lucky to be alive."

I looked down at the table. "Yeah... he's a lucky one, alright..."

There was another moment of silence, during which I shivered. I did what I could to push death out of my head. I _had_ to believe that there was something after death. If I thought there was nothing, I don't think I'd be able to kill anybody, be it in self defense or revenge. Additionally, I wanted to think that I would see my friends, my father, and my mother again. Even if I didn't believe like my mother and father did (too much logic during childhood will do that to faith), I wasn't ready to think of existence as something so fragile; so fleeting.

The thought of Cord simply ceasing to exist right there, practically in my arms... it could've consumed me.

"Anyway," said The King, jolting me from my conflict. "I apologize for the welcome you received. You can take your deathclaw to the Followers camp. You passed it on the way here. They'll fix him up, and resupply you. Just don't ask them for suggestions on taking down Caesar. They'll just tell you to hug a rainbow or something."

I nodded again. "Thank you for the advice," I said. I slowly went to stand up, and his hand went out to gently grab my arm.

"Now, hold on a second. I wanted to ask you a favor."

I stared. He paused for just a moment, stringing together words in his head before they left his mouth. That brief moment of pause, however... was all that was required for one of his lackeys to run into the room and whisper madly into his ear.

"What? Say that again!"

The lackey glanced at me for a moment, and he shout-whispered into The King's ear again.

"Larry was spotted in The Strip!"

Larry? He must've been a big deal... if the look on The King's face was any indication.

"Larry? _Dead_ Larry?"

"Dead Larry! King... look, he must've been hiding in one of the supply caravans..."

"What the hell do I pay you people for? Where in The Strip? What building?"

"I- I sent Kenny in to go look for him..."

"And?"

The lackey trembled and looked away for a moment.

"Oh, my God... He... he killed Kenny!"

"The bastard," was all The King muttered under his breath. I made my presence known again.

"Uh... I'm sorry... but who is Larry?"

"You should know, Miss 101."

We all looked up at at the door. The same girl that stopped Manny from trying to kill me was standing there, eyeing me with a smile on her face. I could see in her eyes... she was troubled, but... she smiled all the same.

"Larry Sizemore was one of our own. He was one of the Brotherhood's best spies in his time."

Sizemore was also one of the Brotherhood's Most Wanted, for the attempted poisoning of the elder of New Vegas' chapter. Sizemore was pronounced dead in 2278, after seventeen people saw him walk into an old Oil Refinery two minutes before it exploded. In 2280, he popped up again, alive and well. He tried to kill whoever was the elder of this chapter, and he's been wanted by the Brotherhood ever since. Additionally, he's been hiring out his skills to anyone who will pay. He kills innocent people if the price is right.

"What makes you think he's here?" I asked. The girl held up a small vial.

"Larry loved his poisons. He left us a little calling card in one of our supply crates."

I suddenly had an idea.

"Hey... if I were to get Larry to either leave or eat a bullet, would there be any chance of backup during my final assault on Caesar?" I asked.

"If you were to get Larry to leave or die, you'd have backup, and I'd get you the one guy that's been leaving a bigger black eye on Caesar than you."

Nikolai?

"His name's Craig Boone. He's First Recon like Vargas, only he's better, and he goes out of his way to hurt the Legion, just like you. Get rid of Sizemore, and I'll reach out to him. He's in the area, anyway. You'll also get an additional favor from me in return, and I can get you almost anything."

I stood up.

"It sounds like we have a deal," I said. "Come on, Dogmeat. Let's go, Argutus."

"...Wait, you're going now?" asked the girl. I shrugged.

"No time like the present, right?"

She slowly smiled again.

"I like you, Milly. I like you. Name's Veronica, by the way... if you didn't hear Manny bitching earlier."

I didn't want to be rude, especially to the girl that saved me from being killed by a former NCR sniper. I held out my hand for her to shake, and that handshake was ultimately the start to a great friendship.

"It's nice to meet you. Thank you again for stopping my untimely demise."

She nodded. "Happy to help. Here, let me show you to the Strip."

At first, while we walked we were silent. I simply followed her (I could've found the entrance myself, considering there was a huge sign that read "THE STRIP" with a big arrow pointing down at the gate) for what felt like the longest of times.

It wasn't until about five minutes into the trip that I attempted to make conversation.

"So... is it true that there are Legionary plants everywhere?" I asked. Veronica partially turned her head to acknowledge me.

"You've spent the last half year or so on a trip to New Vegas and _you_ can't tell _me?"_

"I didn't spend much time in towns that I liberated, lest they pinpoint my location. I mixed up my travel path very often, and they still found ways to hunt me down on occasion."

Veronica let out a cough, and took a sip from a canteen she was carrying.

"Yeah, we had Legionary plants out here. Problem is, we also have The Kings, and just about every piss poor fool in Freeside. Well, problem for them, anyway. We killed off the plants as they revealed themselves in the wake of the NCR's defeat."

"Is it possible that some are still in hiding?" I asked. Veronica shook her head.

"That front gate you came in does not get much use. The only time people leave is when they have permission from The King, and there's always at least one guy on guard duty. To put it simply, we're like Hotel California: You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave."

I stared at her, and she chuckled.

"Oh, don't worry... you've made such a big splash already that it's impossible to consider you a Legionary plant. Where we all have to ask for permission to leave, you can just tell The King when you're leaving."

I could swear she muttered "Lucky..." under her breath at that point.

Veronica's name suddenly came back to ring a bell. She was on the Legion's list of Most Wanted fugitives (which, in spite of what The King said about this "Craig Boone", had ME at the top).

She also wore a power fist and she carried an FN FAL on her back, with "Falafel" carved into the base. However, I saw only two magazines for it: one already loaded, and another duct taped upside down on the first for a fast reload.

"...Uh... does your FAL not get a lot of use here in Freeside, or something?" I asked, trying to revive a little conversation. At this point, we were a few more steps away from the gate.

"No, it just doesn't get a lot of use, period."

We stopped in front of the gates, and I stared at her.

"Let me explain: I'm good at punching things. Like, _really_ good at punching things. I'm alright with guns, but I will sacrifice this Falafel sooner than I would sacrifice my Power Fist. Give me a decent set of Power Armor, and I will punch out your deathclaw before he can raise a paw."

I glanced at Argutus. He was staring intently at the large buildings looming over us now in fascination, and he was likely quite a few miles away from this particular back-and-forth.

Cord never believed that people survived in the wasteland unarmed, and it _is_ a difficult idea to imagine, but a Power Fist can punch through concrete like it's tissue paper, and decent Power Armor can make you a walking tank.

Veronica glanced behind her at the Strip, and then she looked back at me.

"Well... I'm needed back at the front gate. Are you going to be okay on your own?"

I glanced behind me at Argutus, and then to my side at Dogmeat.

"I think I'm in good paws," I said, and then I inwardly died a little once I thought about what a crappy pun that was. Luckily, Veronica didn't call me on it, and I think Argutus took me serious, because he gave a nod of approval.

"Alright, well... good luck. Remember, this is Larry Sizemore we're talking about. They don't come crazier than that guy."

"I've had a lot of recent experience with crazies. I'll be okay."

I entered the gate, and it slammed shut behind me. The first building I decided to try was the Lucky 38- the home of former Strip overload Robert House.

The last recorded entrance to this building during House's life was by the Judge. I considered just how incorrect such a statement could be when I saw one of the doors ajar. I pointed silently to the door for Argutus and Dogmeat, and I instinctively reached for my USP...

..and then I remembered leaving it behind the boulder outside of town. I inwardly cursed, and drew my Beretta Tomcat, knowing I would have very little chance of success with my SRS in close quarters.

I proceeded into the building with my little gun raised, and I did my best to strain my eyes to see in the dark casino.

I felt my foot connect with some wire, and there was a small explosion, propelling a nearly invisible object into the air. I dropped my gun, dove to the ground, and covered my neck, praying the shrapnel wouldn't hurt me too bad.

The supposed method of dealing with an S-Mine, commonly known as a Bouncing Betty, is to simply crouch, or go prone. In reality, the mine is designed to eject about 350 small metal balls in every direction, so it doesn't matter if you duck or go prone. You'd still get hit.

And I probably would've been killed, Dogmeat could've died, and Argutus may have even succumbed if he was hit in the wrong place... _if_ the mine actually detonated in midair. Instead, it clattered to the ground uselessly, and I got ready to scramble back from it.

"I wouldn't do that," said a voice from a balcony overlooking the scene I was causing. I glanced behind me and saw a laser pointer on Argutus' throat, and he was looking around for the voice. The dot vanished from his throat and shot over to Dogmeat's brain case... and then it found a place on my forehead.

The lights suddenly turned on and for the first time I saw Larry Sizemore... the weasel faced psycho wore a smile on his face, as if he was happy to see me.

Argutus prepared to run to try and meet him, and Dogmeat growled menacingly... until I waved them down.

"Guys, stop..."

"Yes, stop. I have a very clear shot at her head, and I'd hate to waste this opportunity to make a new friend."

My Beretta Tomcat was an annoying distance away from me.

"Larry, correct me if I'm wrong, but you're dead."

He frowned for the first time since I actually sighted him.

"Well, I certainly feel alive. How about you, Mil?"

He fired whatever weapon he had up there on either side of my head, earning a louder growl from Dogmeat and a few menacing steps forward by Argutus.

"Woo! Doesn't that make you feel _ALIVE?!_"

He let out a chuckle, and resumed pointing his weapon at me.

"Okay, you've made your point... now tell me what you want."

"What? Oh, right... see, I figured it out early, Mil. I understood. The Brotherhood is dying. It really is. So, was it still alright to send me out to fight losing battles? For _awful pay?_ I thought to myself, "That's not fair". After a few years, I had it all together. I took retirement, I sold my skills, and now I make money whenever I make a heart stop beating. It's win-win!"

I stared.

"Win-win? How? You're ending lives... you're ending innocent lives!"

"Innocent? Who is innocent in this world?"

"You'll kill a bystander that looks at you wrong, and you're even threatening to kill me as I bear a child... you're a monster!" I shouted.

"Oh, come off it, Mil!" he shouted back. I still didn't know how he knew my name. "These people I kill are living miserable lives, having to fight day in, day out... starving, suffering from illness... you should be _thanking me!_"

I stared, and he kept staring at me. His hardened look softened, and that smile returned to his face.

"But hey, I like you, Mildred. You remind me of... well, _me!_ If you think about it a little more... reflect on your burn, think about the way I see things, and we can work together. We'd be rich... rich!"

I stared at him, and he eyed me with the faintest hint of "I'll kill you if you say no" on his face, so I didn't say no.

"You want me to work with you, Larry?" I asked. He stared.

"Come on, kid, I thought I made that clear," he complained.

"Alright, Larry... but I have a favor to ask you, first."

He was quiet.

"Who is your target?" I asked.

"My next dead-ee is the man you know as the King."

I stared. "Dead-ee?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, that's the best I can come up with as of late. It's got a bit of a ring to it, doesn't it?"

"If you say so," I said. "Well, listen... spare the King. He's important to my current kill mission. To lose him would be... insulting," I said. He stared intently at me, and then his look hardened.

"Wait... you're really on this thing to kill Caesar, aren't you?"

"Come on, Larry, I thought I made that clear," I complained.

He fired to both of my sides again, and my companions practically ignored my pleas and rushed him.

"Caesar... happens to be my current employer. Why do you think I'm here in the first place?" he asked.

"Honestly, I thought you were here for the women and the casinos," I said.

All was silent for another small eternity, and then Larry laughed loudly.

He laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed. He kept laughing so hard that I considered how wise it was to keep my companions from attacking him.

"Oh, that's rich. That's funny! I'm here to kill the King for Caesar, and you're here to kill Caesar! I'm a fan... I really am," he said, finally calming down. He resumed staring at me again, at first waiting to see if I had anything more to say, and then he started weighing what I already suggested.

At any moment he could've fired and killed me, but he didn't. He was silently scrutinizing everything about me, about my companions, and about how I operated. I could see that in his eyes. He was sadistic, but he wasn't insane like Judge was. He was cunning, and obviously very good at what he did.

He suddenly took his laser sight off of me.

"Alright, I'll do you a solid, Mil. I'll spare his life."

After that statement, my relief was overwhelming. The King's was influence we could not do without. To lose him could severely cripple the stability of the rebels here in Freeside.

"You'll leave?" I asked. He nodded.

"Yeah, why not? I'll leave. I have a few promising contracts out in Buffalo, anyway, and Caesar pays like ass, so like I said: win-win!"

I slowly started to stand up again, and the laser pointer found itself on my torso.

"But one thing: I'm doing this as a favor to you, or not doing this as a favor. Try to divert me again, and you'll be my _next_ dead-ee," he said through clenched teeth. With that, he turned away and disappeared from view.

"By the way, if you're planning on following me up the stairs, I don't recommend it. I rigged a few claymores on them. See you around, Mil."

That was the first and last time I saw Larry Sizemore.

End of Chapter

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**5,898 words.**

**Larry Sizemore is a reference to an antagonist of the same name in _Burn Notice_. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're dead" is a direct quote from _Burn Notice_, and in the show, Sizemore refers to his targets as "dead-ees". **

**Oh, and Milly firing her USP blindly in a desperate attempt to suppress her enemy is another reference to _Burn Notice_. I do a lot of those.**

**Milly's rant on bugs is not an attempt at reflecting on me. I don't fear bugs so much as I get angry if they're in my house, because then I actually have to _do_ something about them...**

**"...would swallow you up..." is a reference to a line in the song "Sin City": "...it'll swallow you in if you've got some money to burn."**

**Additionally, "Hotel California" is a reference to the song of the same name by The Eagles. There is a line that goes "You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave".**

**Next chapter is mostly filler, so it'll probably be short. It's covering what Milly does while she waits for Nikolai.**


	20. Both Sides Now

**Chapter 19**

**Both Sides Now**

* * *

**"You can watch things happen, you can make things happen, or you can wonder what the f**k happened."**

**-Phil Harris**

* * *

After I dealt with Larry, I returned to The King. He was already in a meeting when I showed up, and his doorstop Pacer told me he would be "just a minute".

An hour later, I asked him again to see The King, and this time he offered to help me "pass the time" with a wink, at which point Argutus had to keep me from knocking the pretty-boy smile off his face with a length of rebar.

I was just sort of sitting against the wall not far from Pacer, refusing eye contact with him. I eventually had to get up and I took Argutus to get treated at the Followers' Fort, but I had to promise the doctor ("Arcade" something) that the deathclaw would not attempt to eat him. After I got him to work on the wound, I returned to The Kings' building, sat where I was sitting earlier, and I waited some more.

I'd fallen asleep while I was waiting, and I would have continued to sleep if something didn't fall into my lap and jolt me awake. For a moment, I thought it was the man I was trying to earn a favor from waking me up, but that wasn't the case.

A file was sitting in my lap with the word "CONFIDENTIAL" stamped across it.

"Merry Christmas, miss 101."

"...what is this?" I asked.

"It's three and a half hours of digging and half a dozen favors taken form. That's three pages out of your burn notice."

I would've liked to seem really cool and collect, but once she finished her sentence, I had the file open.

I didn't read more than "MILLY OF VAULT 101 is no longer a reliable asset" before I squinted in natural suspicion and looked up at Veronica.

"Why are you giving me this?" I asked. She sat down next to me with a smile.

"Just a peace offering. I'm still technically considered Brotherhood, and I didn't want you feeling uncomfortable here."

I blinked.

"Did I perhaps... say something that made you think we were at odds?"

Veronica tilted her head. "Huh? No... It's just my way of apologizing for what the Brotherhood did."

"I stopped caring about the burn about forty seconds after I received it."

"...Really?"

I nodded. "All that mattered then were the lives of two men, and those two men are a stone's throw from me as we speak. Once that's over and done with, well... I'd always wanted to be 'Milly, m.d'."

"...So you're not planning on..."

I held the file up again with a smile.

"Seriously, Veronica. You don't need to apologize for them."

Once the Brotherhood showed its true colors, it was no longer important to me. If I were to face anyone in Lyons' Pride in a gunfight right now, I would go down fighting. Sarah would want me to think she was my friend, and she was, to some extent... but the Brotherhood asks that you put its best interests before anything else. She'd kill me without a second thought if given the order, because as far as anybody in the Brotherhood is concerned, orders matter.

I was guilty, too. I believed in my orders. I did what was commanded of me while I acted for Steel passionately. There was a time where I might have even killed Sarah if the order was given.

I drew a line, though, as my father would have wanted me to. Had I ever been asked to kill my immediate family (Cord, Dogmeat, or Three Dog), I'd refuse. It is contradictory to say that I would follow all orders, but only some of the time. However, one is left wanting when considering how valid a statement "I would follow my orders most of the time" actually is.

"That's good," she said, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Hey, you want to go eat together later? I'd like to get to know you a little more."

I blinked. The last time I had a nice, relaxing meal with friends... I think we were still in Oasis. I can't count the trip here. Though I ran into less resistance than I expected, I still felt like I was being watched all hours of the day.

So I found myself nodding like a bobblehead before I even said yes. It would be nice to wind down a little.

"Cool! I'll meet you here at around seven. Bring your dog and... deathclaw... if you'd like. Huh... this will be a weird dinner."

I smiled. "Okay, see you then."

Hey, as far as I was concerned, I needed time to wind down. I just travelled across the states and engaged in a completely idiotic quest against Caesar's Legion. I think I'm entitled to a little downtime.

Then again, I _did_ get a lot of down time when I worked with the Brotherhood. Ah, well. I still want a break. I'll take my break... eventually...

I was finally allowed to see the King, so I could tell him that he wasn't in danger anymore. I, for one, would've cleared my schedule immediately for an update on who may or may not try to kill me. Maybe that's just the way things work in Vegas. All I know is, I can't wait to go home. I got to thinking about it while I was waiting, and it occurred to me: Vegas annoys the crap out of me. I've been in the walls of New Vegas for a day or two, and already I'm being bossed around. And I got shot at.

Some vacation hotspot.

"Hey, it's the girl of the hour. Do you have good news for me, 101?"

I sat down in the chair across from him. I've been doing a lot of that recently. Sitting, that is.

"Larry had a bit of a mid-life crisis. He's looking for a change of scenery."

The King stared blankly. "Huh?"  
"Just a little joke. He said something about shuffling off to Buffalo, and that was it. You should know he has claymores in the... I think it was the Lucky 38 I found him in. If you're going to send some people in there, tell them to mind the mines."

"Thank you, 101."

I nodded with a smile and looked at Dogmeat. He was having a staring contest with "Rexie".

"No, I mean it. Thank. You."

"You're welcome."

"Thank you isn't enough. What do you need? Food? Money? Anything you need, you get. If you didn't stop Larry, and he got me, all of this..."

He gestured to the room, which I took to mean not just his building, but all of Freeside.

"...would be overrun. The only other guy I've got that could run this place is Pacer, and he's not the brightest light on the Christmas tree, if you know what Christmas is."

"Sure."

"Now then... what can I do for you?"

"Well, I _do_ need a place to stay while I wait for my partner to show up. It wouldn't be more than a few weeks. Another person to help with the attack would be nice, too. Also, any ammunition you might have would help. .308 rounds, to be precise. Finally, I kind of... sort of... lost my handgun while your guys had me pinned down. I'd appreciate a replacement. Is that too much?"

He shook his head.

"Too much? I was going to ask if you were serious. I have people do me favors that are half as important as what you just did that will ask me for thrice what you just asked. Consider it done."

I smiled, but as I got up to leave, he stopped me again.

"Wait! There's one more thing I want to give you. I was hoping to do this after you killed Caesar, because let's face it: It's going to happen... but I can't. Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" I asked. He reached under the table for something. Dogmeat sniffed under the table and stared at the man not with anger, but confusion.

"I made you..."

A cake? I really could go for cake.

No, of course not. It's a jacket. A leather jacket.

"...A King."

I couldn't have been more unenthusiastic. I'd been craving something sweet for the past four days. Still, I took it in good nature, as my father would have wanted (I could feel Cord snickering at me).

I put on as sincere a smile as I could.

"Thank you. Seriously. I really appreciate it."

He put his hands out as I took the jacket (it wasn't going to get much use).

"It's the least I could do. Now, you missed my latest weapon shipment. I've got an arms dealer coming out in a week or so, and he'll be bringing new pistols and ammunition. He should have .308 rounds. He has everything."

On a hunch, I muttered "Is his name Sergei?" and the King was surprised.

"You know him?"

I blinked.

"Wait... really? Sergei?"

"Russian guy, has an overpacked brahmin, butchers names?"

I nodded. "He's the one that supplied most of what I have on me."

"He's great at what he does so long as you don't cross him. Rumor has it that he mooned the old NCR Ambassador, and the man let him get away with it."

I didn't really want to know that. The King looked like he'd forgotten something, because he continued.

"Right! By the way, Craig Boone will be back here for a resupply before he goes out to rape the Legion again. I'll ask him to stick around and help with the attack. He won't hesitate, don't worry. As for you, rest. Wait for your partner to show up. Wind down until he does. You deserve a break."

First order of R&R: Fetch Argutus.

Second order of R&R: Wait until 6 o' clock, and start getting ready for dinner.

End of Chapter

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**1,677 words.**

**I had this done a while ago, but if you go to my profile (thank you, that will get me through the day), you'll see the notice on there. My wireless router basically took a dump, and now I have no way to upload this from home, so I have to go to the library. **

**I don't have time to give this chapter a once-over, so I'll do that some other time from home and make any changes next time I come back here.**

**Next chapter covers something that I don't remember.**


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